UC-NRLF 


ALICE    WILDE: 

' 


THE 


KAFTSMAFS    DAUGHTER. 


FOREST  ROMANCE, 


BY  MRS.  METTA  V.:  VICTOR. 


YORK: 
IRWIN    P.    BEADLE    AND    COMPANY, 

141  WILLIAM  ST.,  CORXEE  OF  FULTOX. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Year  1860,  by 

IRWIN    P.    BEADLE    &   CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


ALICE  WILDE. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE     CABIN     HOME. 

"  THAT  ar'  log  bobs  'round  like  the  old  sea-sarpint,"  mut 
tered  Ben  Perkins  to  himself,  leaning  forward  with  his  pole- 
hook  and  trying  to  fish  it,  without  getting  himself  too  deep  in 
the  water.  "  Blast  the  thing  !  I  can't  tackle  it  no  how ;"  and 
he  waded  in  deeper,  climbed  on  to  a  floating  log,  and  endeav 
ored  again  to  catch  the  one  which  so  provokingly  evaded  him. 

Ben  was  a  "  hand"  employed  in  David  Wilde's  saw-mill,  a 
few  rods  farther  up  the  creek,  a  young  fellow  not  without 
claims  to  admiration jas  a  fine  specimen  of  his  kind  and  call 
ing.  His  old  felt-hat  shadowed  hair  as  black  as  an  Indian's, 
and  made  the  swarthy  hue  of  his  face  still  darker ;  his  cheeks 
and  lips  were  red,  ana  his  eyes  blacker  than  his  hair.  The 
striped  wammus  bound  at  the  waist  by  a  leather  belt,  and  the 
linen  trowsers  rolled  up  to  the  knees,  were  picturesque  in  their 
way  and  not  unbecoming  the  lithe,  powerful  figure. 

Ben  had  bobbed  for  saw-logs  a  great  many  times  in  his 
life,  and  was  a  person  too  quick  and  dextrous  to  meet  with 
frequent  accidents ;  but  upon  this  day,  whether  the  sudden 
sight  of  a  tiny  skiff  turning  the  bend  of  the  river  just  below 
and  heading  up  the  creelphrew  him  off  his  guard,  or  what  it 
was,  certain  it  is,  that  stretching  forward  after  that  treacher 
ous  log,  he  lost  his  balance  and  fell  into  the  water.  He  did 
not  care  for  the  ducking ;  but  he  cared  for  the  eyes  which 
saw  him  receive  it ;  his  ears  tingled  and  his  cheeks  burned 
as  he  heard  the  silvery  laugh  which  greeted  his  misfortune. 
Climbing  up  on  to  a  log  again,  he  stood  dripping  like  a 
merman  and  blushing  like  a  peony,  as  the  occupant  of  the 
boat  rowed  nearer. 

Mi.46857 


?••**'*.**«'         ;     '  "      ALICE    WILDE. 

"  Keep  out  the  way  them  logs,  Miss  Alice,  or  ye'll  get  up- 
sot  I"  he  cried,  glad  of  an  excuse  for  attracting  attention  from 
his  own  mishap.  \ 

"  I  can  take  care  of  myself,  thank  you,"  was  the  gay  an 
swer.  "  Do  you  see  father's  boat  coming,  anywhere  in  sight, 
Ben  ?  He  was  to  be  home  this  afternoon ;  and  I  took  a  fancy 
to  go  down  and  meet  him." 

"  I  don't  see  nutliin'  of  it.  That  war  a  mighty  big  raft  he- 
took  down  to  Centre  City ;  the  biggest  raft  that  ever  floated 
on  that  river,  I  reckon.  He  mought  not  be  home  for  two  or 
three  days  yet,  Miss  Alice.  Gorry  !  but  won't  he  hev  a  heap 
of  money  when  he  sells  that  ar'  raft !" 

"  And  he'll  be  sure  to  bring  me  something  pretty — he  al 
ways  does."  ^ 

"  He  knows  what's  what,"  responded  Ben,  stealing  a  side 
long,  admiring  glance  at  the  sweet,  young  face  in  the  skiff. 

If  a  compliment  was  intended,  it  was  not  understood  by  the 
hearer. 

"  Yes,  father  always  knows  just  what  suits  me  best.  Dear 
father  !  I  hope  he  will  come  home  to-night.  I've  been  out  pick 
ing  blackberries  for  supper — just  look  at  my  hands,"  and  she 
held  up  two  pretty,  dimpled  hands,  as  if  to  show  how  charming 
they  were,  instead  of  to  betray  the  purple-tipped  fingers. 

But  Alice  Wilde  did  not  know  they  were  pretty,  in  sober 
truth,  for  she  had  never  been  praised,  flattered,  nor  placed  in 
a  situation  where  she  could  institute  comparisons. 

"  Well,  Ben,  good-by.  I  shall  float  down  the  river  a  few 
miles,  and  if  I  don't  see  him,  I  can  row  back  alone." 

"  You're  mighty  pert  with  the  oars,  for  a  gal.  I  never 
seed  no  woman  't  could  row  a  boat  like  you,  Miss  Alice." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  alright  smile,  as  she  turned 
her  little  birchen  skiff  about  and  struck  out  into  the  river  again. 

Ben  watched  that  graceful  form  until  it  was  out  of  sight, 
heaving  a  sigh,  as  he  turned  again  to  his  work,  which  told  how 
absorbed  he  had  been. 

Drifting  down  the  river,  under  the  shadow  of  precipitous 
bluffs,  while  the  sunshine  flecked  with  gold  the  rolling  prairie- 
laud  upon  the  opposite  side,  the  young  girl  sang  wild  negro- 
melodies  which  she  had  learned  of  the  two  old  colored  people 
who  formed  her  father's  retinue  of  house-servants.  Rich  and 


A    BEAUTIFUL    ECHO.  7 

clear,  her  voice  floated  through  those  beautiful  solitudes,  heard 
only  by  the  envious  birds  in  the  trees  which  overtopped  the 
bluffs. 

Presently  she  had  listeners,  of  whom  she  was  unaware.  An 
abrupt  bend  in  the  river  hid  from  her  the  little  boat  with  its 
single  sail,  fluttering  like  a  butterfly  against  the  current.  It 
held  two  persons— David  Wilde,  the  owner  and  captain  of  the 
raft  of  which  Ben  had  spoken,  a  rough,  striking-looking  man 
of  middle  age,  attired  in  a  pink  calico  shirt  and  brown,  linen 
jacket  and  trowsers,  who  sat  at  the  tiller  smoking  his  pipe  ; 
and  a  young  man  of  four  and  twenty,  extremely  good-looking 
and  fashionably-dressed. 

"  AVhat's  that  ?"  exclaimed  the  latter,  as  the  sweet  voice 
thrilled  over  the  water. 

"That's  herself,  sure,"  replied  the  raftsman,  listening; 
"she's  comin'  to  meet  me,  I  reckon.  It's  just  like  her." 

"And  who's  'herself?'"  queried  the  other,  laughing. 

"  My  cub,  sir.  Won't  yer  take  yer  flute  out  of  yer  pocket 
and  give  her  a  tune,  before  she  sees  us  ?  It'll  set  her  to  won- 
derin'  what  'n  earth  it  is." 

The  young  man  put  the  pieces  of  his  flute  together,  and 
joined  in  the  strain,  rising  loud  and  exultant  upon  the  breeze ; 
the  voice  ceased  ;  he  stopped  playing ;  the  voice  began,  and 
again  he  accompanied  it ;  it  sang  more  exuberently  than 
ever,  and  the  flute  blent  in  with  it  accordantly. 

It  was  not  until  they  were  nearly  upon  her  fairy  bark  that 
they  came  in  sight  of  the  singer,  her  bright  hair  flying,  her 
cheeks  redder  than  roses  with  the  double  exercise  of  rowing 
and  singing.  Philip  Moore  thought  he  had  never  beheld  so 
lovely  an  apparition. 

"  Oh,  father,  I'm  so  glad  you're  home  again.  Did  you  hear 
that  beautiful  echo  ?"  sho^skecl,  her  eyes  all  aglow  with 
surprise  and  pleasure.  "  fnever  heard  any  thing  like  it  be 
fore.  It  must  be  the  rocks." 

"  'Twant  the  rocks — 'twas  this  here  gentleman,"  said  David 
Wilde,  smiling.  "  Mr.  Moore,  this  is  my  daughter  Alice." 

Unknown  to  himself,  his  tone  and  look  were  full  of  pride 
as  he  presented  her  to  his  companion,  who  never  paid  a  more 
sincere  tribute  of  admiration  to  any  woman,  however  accom 
plished,  than  he  did  to  the  artless  child  who  returned  his 
deep  bow  with  so  divine  a  blush. 


8  ALTCK    AVILBE. 

"  I  thought  I'd  come  to  meet  you,  and  run  a  race  home 
with  you,"  she  said  to  her  father,  with  a  fond  look. 

"  That's  just  like  niy  little  cub— alters  on  hand.  Wall,  go 
ahead  !  the  breeze  is  fair,  and  I  guess  we'll  beat  ye.  Hope 
ye'll  make  good  time,  fur  I'm  beginning  to  get  rather  growly 
in  the  region  of  the  stomach." 

"  Pallas  expects  you,"  returned  Alice,  laughing. 

"  If  your  skiff  were  large  enough  for  two,  I'd  take  those 
oars  off  your  hands,"  said  the  young  gentleman. 

"Nobody  ever  touches  this,  but  myself,"  and  away  sped 
the  fairy  affair  with  its  mistress,  daiting  ahead  like  an  arrow, 
but  presently  dropping  behind  as  they  tacked,  and  then  shoot 
ing  past  them  again,  the  young  girl  stealing  shy  glances,  as 
she  passed,  at  the  stranger  who  was  watching  her  with  min 
gled  curiosity  and  admiration.  So  sweetly  bashful,  yet  so 
arch  and  piquant — so  rustic,  yet  so  naturally  graceful — so 
young,  he  could  not  tell  whether  she  esteemed  herself  a  child 
or  a  woman — certainly  she  was  very  different  from  the  dozen 
of  tow-headed  children  he  had  taken  it  for  granted  must  rim 
wild  about  the  '  cabin'  to  which  he  was  now  about  to  make  a 
visit. 

"  How  many  children  have  you,  Mr.  Wilde  ?" 

"  She's  all.  That's  my  mill  you  see  just  up  the  mouth  of 
the  creek  thar.  We're  nigh  on  to  my  cabin  now ;  when  we've 
rounded  that  pint  we  shall  heave  in  sight.  Seems  to  me  I 
smell  supper.  A  cold  snack  is  very  good  for  a  day  or  two, 
but  give  me  suthin'  of  Pallas'  getting  up  after  it.  Thar's  the 
cabin  !" 

Philip  had  been  following  with  his  eyes  the  pretty  sailor, 
who  had  already  moored  her  craft  to  the  foot  of  a  huge  elm, 
overhanging  the  gravelly  shore  from  a  sloping  bank  above, 
and  now  stood  in  the  shadow  of  tln*ree  awaiting  them. 

If  it  had  not  been  for  the  blue  Smoke  curling  up  in  thin 
wreaths  from  a  stick  chimney  which  rose  up  in  the  rear,  he 
would  hardly  have  discovered  the  dwelling  at  first  sight— a 
little  one-story  log-house,  so  completely  covered  with  clamber 
ing  vines  t^at  it  looked  like  a  green  mound.  Tartarian  honey 
suckles  waved  at  the  very  summit  of  the  chimnej',  and  wild- 
roses  curtained  every  window. 

Taking  upon  herself  the  part  of  hostess,  Alice  led  the  way 


UNEXPECTED    COMPANY.  9 

to  the  house.  Philip  was  again  agreeably  surprised,  as  he 
entered  it.  He  had  read  of  squatter  life,  and  considered  him 
self  "  posted"  as  to  what  to  expect— corn-bread  and  bacon,  an 
absence  of  forks  and  table-cloths,  musquitoes,  the  river  for  a 
wash-basin,  sand  for  soap,  the  sun  for  a  towel,  and  the  privi 
lege  of  sharing  the  common  bed.  But  upon  entering  the 
cabin,  he  found  himself  in  a  large  room,  with  two  smaller 
apartments  partitioned  from  the  side  ;  the  cooking  seemed  to 
be  done  in  a  shanty  in  the  rear.  The  table  was  set  in  the 
center  of  the  room,  with  a  neat  cloth,  and  a  great  glass  plate, 
heaped  with  blackberries,  stood  upon  it,  and  was  surrounded 
by  a  wreath  of  wild-flowers  woven  by  the  same  dimpled  hands 
which  had  managed  the  oars  so  deftly. 

"  'Clar  to  gracious,  masser,  you  tuk  us  unbeknown." 

The  new  speaker  was  an  old  negro  woman,  portly  and 
beaming,  who  appeared  at  the  back  door,  crowned  with  a 
yellow  turban,  and  bearing  in  her  left  hand  that  scepter  of 
her  realm,  the  rolling-pin. 

"  But  not  unprepared,  hey,  Pallas  ?" 

"  Wall,  I  dunno,  masser.  I  didn't  spec'  the  pickaninny  'ud 
eat  more  'n  one  roas'  chicken.  But  thar's  two  in  de  oven  ; 
for,  to  tell  de  trute,  masser,  I  had  a  sense  dat  you  war  a 
comin' ;  and  I  know'd  if  you  wasn't,  me  and  my  ole  man 
wouldn't  be  afraid  of  two  fowls." 

"  But  I've  brought  home  company,  Pallas." 

"  Hcv  you  now,  masser  ?  I'sc  mighty  glad  to  hear  it.  I'd 
as  soon  wait  on  masser's  frien's  as  to  sing  de  Land  of  Canaan. 
Yer  welcome,"  she  added,  dropping  a  courtesy  to  the  guest 
with  as  much  importance  as  if  she  were  mistress  of  the  house 
— as,  in  fact,  she  had  been,  in  most  matters,  for  many  long 
years.  lie  made  her  a  deep  and  gracious  bow,  accompanied 
by  a  smile  which  took  her  old  heart  by  storm. 

Retreating  to  the  kitchen  outside,  where  Saturn,  her  hus 
band,  had  been  pressed  into  service,  and  sat  with  an  apron 
over  his  knees  parcing  potatoes,  buoyed  up  by  the  promise  of 
roast  chicken  from  his  wife,  she  told  him  as  she  rolled  and 
cut  out  her  biscuits : 

"The  finest  gentleum  she  had  sot  eyes  on  sense  she  left  ole 
Virginny.  -His  smile  was  enough  to  melt  buttah— jus'  de  smile 
what  a  isweet-lnannered  young  ;:entlenm  otigm,  to  have.  She 


10  ALICE    WILDE. 

was  mighty  glad,"  she  added,  in  a  mysterious  whisper,  "  dat  ar' 
pickaninny  was  no  older. 

"  Wha'  for?"  queried  Saturn,  pausing,  with  a  potato  on  the 
end  of  his  knife,  and  a  look  of  hopeless  darkness  on  his  face, 
barring  the  expanding  whites  of  his  eyes. 

"  You  nebbah  could  see  tru  a  grin'-stone  till  I'd  made  a  hole 
in  it  for  yer.  It'r>  a  wonder  I  tuk  up  wid  such  an  ole  fool  as 
you  is,  Saturn.  If  yer  eyes  were  wurf  half  as  much  as  dein 
pertaters'  eyes,  yer  could  see  for  yerself.  Hasn't  inasser  swore 
agin  clem  city  gentleum  ?" 

"  He's  swore— dat's  so." 

"  And  he  never  would  forgive  one  as  would  come  and  steal 
away  his  precious  child — nebbah!"  continued  Pallas,  lifting 
her  rolling-pin  threatingly  at  the  bare  thought.  "  If  he  war 
rich  as  gold,  and  lubbed  her  to  distraction,  'twouldn't  make  a 
speck  o'  difference.  He's  jealous  of  the  very  ground  she  walks 
on ;  and  he  hates  clem  smoof-spokcn  city  folks." 

u  Do  you  suspec'  he's  a  kidnapper — dat  ar'  vis'ter  ?"  asked 
Saturn,  his  eyes  growing  still  bigger,  and  looking  toward  the 
door  as  if  he  thought  of  the  possibility  of  the  handsome  young 
stranger  carrying  him  off. 

"  You  is  bora  a  fool,  and  you  can't  help  it.  Put  'em  Haters 
!n  dc  pot,  and  mind  yer  own  bisness.  I  want  some  more  wood 
for  dis  riali — immejetly  !" 

When  Pallas  said  "immejetly!"  with  that  majestic  air, 
there  was  nothing  left  for  her  worser  half  save  to  obey,  and 
he  retreated  to  the  wood-pile  with  alacrity.  On  going  out  he 
run  against  Ben  Perkins,  who  had  been  standing  by  the  open 
door,  unperceived,  for  the  last  five  minutes. 

"Wh}r,  Ben,  dat  you?"  asked  Pallas,  good-naturedly,  not 
dreaming  thflt  he  had  overheard  her  confidential  conversation. 

"  Yes ;  I  came  up  to  the  house  to  seen  if  Captain  Wilde  had 
any  orders  for  the  mill  to-night.  I  see  him  when  he  passed 
the  creek.  Who's  with  him,  Pallas  ?" 

The  old  colored  woman  gave  a  sudden  sharp  glance  at  the 
youth's  troubled  face. 

"  It's  a  Men'  for  all  I  know.  What  bisness  is  it  of  yours 
to  be  askin'  ?" 

11 1  s'pose  I  hain't  no  business.     Do  you  think  it's  likely  it's 
•  anybody  as  expects  to  marry  Miss  Alice  ?"  his  voice  trembled, 
«nd  he  looked  nl,  his  boots  as  he  asked  the  question. 


SODA    BISCUITS.  11 

"  Marry  Miss  Alice  !  What  a  simpl'un  you  is,  Ben.  Wha's 
that  pickaninny  but  a  chile  yet,  I'se  like  to  know  ?  a  little  chit 
as  don't  know  nothin'  'bout  marrym'  nobody.  'Sides  that, 
long  as  her  faclder  libs,  she'll  never  marry,  not  if  it  war  a  king. 
He'd  be  mad  as  fury  ef  any  one  was  to  dar'  to  speak  of  such 
a  thing.  Humf!  my  pickaninny,  indeed!"  with  an  air  of 
scorn  and  indignation  deeply  felt  by  the  youth,  whose  face 
was  flushing  beneath  the  implied  rebuke.  "  Ef  you'll  stop  a 
few  minutes,  I'll  give  yer  some  of  dese  soda  biscuits,"  she  said, 
after  a  brief  silence,  secretly  pitying  a  trouble  at  which  she  had 
shrewdly  guessed,  though  she  resented  the  audacity  of  the 
hope  from  which  it  sprang.  "  Dat  ar'  man-cook  what  gets  up 
the  vittles  for  the  mill-hands  can't  make  sech  biscuits  as  mine. 
Stop  now,  and  hab  some,  won't  yer  ?" 

u  Thank  ye,  Pallas,  I  ain't  hungry,"  was  the  melancholy 
reply — melancholy  when  proceeding  from  a  hearty,  hard 
working  young  man,  who  ought  to  have  been  hungry  at  that 
hour  of  -the  day.  He  turned  away,  and  without  even  going 
to  the  cabin-door  to  inquire  of  Mr.  Wilde  as  he  had  proposed, 
struck  into  the  pine-woods  back  of  the  garden-patch. 


12  ALICE    WILDE. 


CHAPTER     II. 

PALLAS  AND  SATURN. 

SUPPER  was  over,  and  David  Wilde  was  cutting  with  his 
jack-knife  the  strings  of  several  packages  which  had  accom 
panied  him  on  his  trip  back  from  Center  City,  where  he  had 
disposed  of  his  raft.  His  guest  sat  upon  a  wooden  settle,  as 
much  interested  as  the  others  in  the  proceedings,  though  his 
eyes  were  fixed  mostly  upon  the  happy  girl,  who,  with  all  of 
her  sex's  love  of  finery,  was  upon  her  knees  on  the  floor, 
assisting,  with  smiling  eyes  and  eager  fingers,  at  the  pleasant 
task  of  bringing  forth  the  contents  of  these  packages.  A  dark- 
blue  dress  of  the  finest  merino,  a  rich  shawl,  and  some  pretty 
laces  for  collars  and  ruffles  rewarded  her  search.  There  was 
another  package  which  was  all  her  own,  with  which  she  was 
equally  delighted ;  it  was  made  up  of  "a  dozen  of  books,  whose 
titles  she  eagerly  read  before  she  continued  her  explorations. 

"  Here's  a  dress  Mr.  Moore  picked  out  for  you,"  said  the 
raftsman,  maliciously,  unfolding  a  gorgeous  red  and  yellow 
calico. 

"But  I  hadn't  seen  you,  you  know,"  returned  Philip 
coloring. 

At  this  moment  Pallas,  who  had  an  eye  upon  the  bundles, 
came  in  on  a  pretence  of  clearing  off  the  table. 

"  Come  and  look  at  my  beautiful  presents,  Pallas,"  cried 
her  young  mistress. 

"  You've  got  little  les'n  an  angel  fer  a  fudcler,  my  dear  chile," 
ejaculated  tjiat  personage,  catching  sight  of  the  calico  from  the 
corner  of  her  eye  while  admiring  the  merino. 

Alice  looked  up  into  the  rough  sun-burnt  face  of  her  father 
with  a  smile ;  the  idea  of  his  being  an  angel  was  not  so  ludic 
rous  to  her  as  it  was  to  their  guest. 

"  Here's  somethin'  to  help  you  along  with  yer  sewing,"  con 
tinued  David,  taking  a  little  box  containing  a  gold  thimble 
from  his  jacket-pocket,  "See  if  it  fits,"  and  he  placed  it  on 
the  little  fair  hand. 

"  It  iie.ts  to  your  finger  like  a  cup  to  an  acorn,"  exclaimed 


GO-TO-MEETIXG    BOOTS.  13 

Pallas.  "  Thar's  none  like  masser  to  tell  per-cisely  what  a 
person  wants  and  is  a  wishin'  fer,"  and  again  her  covert  glance 
sought  the  calico. 

14  Sartainly,  old  girl ;  no  doubt,"  chuckled  the  raftsman. 
"  If  that's  the  case,  jist  take  them  handkerchiefs  and  that 
dress-pattern  and  give  'em  to  Saturn.  You  can  keep  the  vest 
and  the  tobacker  and  the  boots  yerself,  and  especialljr  the 
trowsers — you've  allers  worn  'em  !" 

"  Laws,  masser,  ef  I  hadn't,  things  would  a  gone  to  rack 
and  ruin  long  ago.  Dat  nigger  of  mine  no  use,  but  to  sleep 
hisself  to  deaf.  He's  a  great  cross  to  me,  Saturn  is,"  and  with 
a  profusion  of-  smiles  and  thanks  she  carried  off  her  booty  to 
the  kitchen,  graciously  dispensing  his  share  to  her  "  ole  man," 
and  condescending  to  be  unusually  affable. 

"Ef  we  only  had  a  camp-meetin'  to  go  to  now,"  she  said, 
spreading  out  the  new  jacket  and  trowsers  beside  the  calico. 
"  It's  four  yeer,  come  nex'  monf,  since  we  went  to  dat  meetin' 
down  de  riber.  I  declar'  it's  jes'  like  de  heathen  fer  decent 
culled  pussons  not  to  have  any  place  to  holler  Glory,  and 
show  der  new  clo'es. 

"  I'd  like  to  go  to  meetin'  wid  dese  boots,"  remarked  her 
spouse,  looking  down  at  the  immense  pair  into  which  he  had 
squeezed  his  feet. 

"  Ef  you  did,  all  I  can  say  is,  dar'  wouldn'  be  no  room  fer 
anybody  else  dar',"  returned  Pallas,  giving  way,  by  mere  force 
of  habit,  to  her  custom  of  snubbing  her  companion. 

"  Wha'  fer  ?"  inquired  Saturn. 

"  No  matter,  ef  yer  don't  know.  My  !  my  !" — hopelessly — 
"  what  a  fool  you  is  !" 

"  Dat's  so,  wife ;"  was  the  humble  reply,  "  but,"  picking  up 
courage  at  the  sight  of  his  new  rig,  "  mebbe  when  I  get  my 
new  jacket  on,  I'll  know  more." 

"  You'd  bettar  put  it  on  quick,  den,  and  nebbar  take  it  off." 

When  her  dishes  were  washed,  Pallas  took  the  calico  in 
her  lap  and  sat  down. 

"I've  a  sense,"  she  said, -in  a  low  voice,  "dat  things  is  goin' 
to  happen." 

"Wha' fer?" 

"  I  haven't  had  such  a  sense  fer  years,"  she  continued,  too 
preoccupied  to  administer  her  customary  rebuke.  "  And  when 


14  ALICE    WILDE. 

I've  a  sense,  it  allers  comes  to  suthin' — it  never  fails.  I  haven't 
had  such  feelin's  since  missus  died.  Tears  to  me  dat,  young 
gentleum  looks  like  missus'  family.  And  it's  de  same  name — 
curus,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Berry,"  replied  Saturn,  at  random,  lost  in  the  study  of  his 
feet ;  "  dem  boots  is  beauties." 

"  I  dnnno  what  masser  brought  him  here  fer,  he's  allers  been 
KO  keerful.  He  tole  me  'twas  a  pardner  in  de  steam  saw-mill 
dat  takes  his  lumber  off  his  han's ;  a  young  storekeeper  in 
Center  City  now,  though  he  use  to  be  a  lawyer  in  KeV  York 
— rbress  it  !*  it's  a  long  time  sincc-'I  sot  eyes  on  dat  city  now. 
Our  fus'  masser,  Mortimer  Moore,  usin  to  iiivlte  no  shop 
keepers  to  Jiis  house.  My  !  my  !  but  he  was  a  mighty  proud 
man,  and  dat's  what  made  all  de  trouble.  Dem  was  grand 
times,  wid  all  de  serbents  and  de  silber — never  tought  I  cud 
come  to  dis — but  I  promised  missus,  when  she  died,  I'd  stan' 
by  her  chile,  and  I  shall  stand  by  her,  long  as  der's  any  bref 
left  in  dis  ole  body — bress  her!  She's  growing  up  jes'  as 
han'some  as  ever  her  mudder  was,  and  she's  got  her  ways ; 
and  as  for  manners — hi !  hi !  ••folks  might  larf  at  the  idea  of 
ole  Pallas  learnin'  manners  to  her  missus,  but  dar  ain't  nobody 
knows  better  how  table  ought  to  be  set  and  sarbed,  and  things 
to  be  done,  than  my  dear  chile  now,  dis  minit.  Ef  masser 
will  keep  her,  like  de  children  of  Israel,  forty  years  in  de  wil 
derness,  she  shall  be  a  lady  for  all  dat,  bress  her,  and  a  Chris 
tian  ladjr,  too !  She  knows  all  de  bes'  part  of  de  psalms  by 
heart,  now ;  and  she  can  sing  hymns  like  a  cherubim*-  Some 
times  I  mos'  think  she's  got  one  of  dem  golden  harps  in  her 
hand.  If  dat  ole  fool  ain't  asleep.  Saturn !"  kicking  his 
shins,  "  wake  up  yer,  and  go  to  bed — immejetly  !" 

Saturn  had  a  discouraging  time  getting  his  new  boots  off  in 
the  sleepy  state  which  had  come  upon  him ;  but  this  being  at 
last  accomplished,  and  he  safely  lodged  in  the  bed,  which  took 
up  the  greater  portion  of  Pallas'  "  settin'-room,"  off  her  k'itch- 
en,  she  stoje  out  to  the  corner  of  the  house  to  "  spy  out  the 
land,"  in  Bible  language,  which,  to  her,  sheltered  the  deed 
from  opprobrium.  Pallas  was  no  mischief-making  listener; 
«he  considered  herself  entitled  to  know  all  that  transpired  in 
the  family,  whose  secrets  she  kept,  and  whose  welfare  she  had 
la  her  heart. 


11Y    THE    LIGHT    OF    THE    MOON.  15 

"My!  my!  they  make  a  pretty  pietur'  sit  tin'  clar'  in  de 
light  ob  de  moon,"  she  thought,  peeping  at  the  group,  now 
gathered  outside  of  the  door,  enjoying  the  glory  of  a  most 
brilliant  August  moon.  The  young  stranger  was  telling  some 
story  of  foreign  adventure,  his  fine  face  and  animated  gestures 
showing  well  in  the  pure  light,  while  the  old  raftsman  smoked 
his  pipe  to  keep  away  musquitoes,  as  he  said— though  they 
were  not  particularly  troublesome  in  that  neighborhood— and 
Alice  sat  on  the  step  at  his  feet,  her  arms  folded  over  his  knee, 
her  eager,  girlish  face  lifted  to  the  story-teller. 

"  He  sartainly  belongs  to  our  family  of  Moores,  ef .  he  ain't 
no  nearer  than  a  forty-second  cousin,"  whispered  Pallas  to 
herself.  "  Masser  don't  know  'em,  root  and  branch,  as  well  as 
I  do,  else  he'd  see  it  right  away  How  that  pickaninny  is  a 
a  watchin'  of  him  talk!  Laws!  nobody  knows  what  their 
doing  in  dis  yere  woiT,  or  we'd  all  act  different." 

As  she  stood  there,  taking  observations,  she  thought  she 
saw  a  person  in  the  shade  of  the  great  elm  on  the  bank;  and 
not  being  afraid  of  any  thing  but  "gosstesses"  and  "sperits," 
she  went  back  to  the  kitchen  for  a  bucket,  as  an  excuse  for 
going  down  to  the  river  and  finding  out  who  it  was. 

u  Ef  it's  that  yer  young  Perkins,  won't  I  let  him  know  what 
a  fool  he's  making  of  hisself— he,  indeed !  Gorry  !  I'll  give  a 
scolding  'at'll  las'  him  his  lifetime."  But  she  had  no  oppor 
tunity  of  venting  her  indignation,  as  the  form,  whosever  it 
was,  slipped  down  the  bank,  and  ran  away  along  the  wet  sand, 
taking  shelter  behind  a  ledge  of  rock,  before  she  could  recog 
nize  it. 

"  My  !  my !  dis  ole  bucket  full  of  silber,"  she  ejaculated,  as 
she  lifted  it  out  of  the  river,  glittering  in  the  moonlight. 
"  Dis  yere  ribber  looks  lubly  as  de  stream  of  life  dat's  no  win' 
round  de  streets  ob  Paradise,  to-night;"  and  the  good  old 
creature  stood  watching  the  burnished  ripples.  The  rush  of 
waters  and  the  murmur  of  the  pine-forest  were  sweet  even  to 
her  ears. 

"  It's  a  bad  night  for  young  folks  to  be  sittin'  out-o'-doors," 
she  reflected,  shaking  her  yellow  turban  suggestively,  as  she 
looked  at  the  two  by  the  cabin-door. 

But  let  us  go  back  a,  little  way  with  our  story. 


16  ALICE  WILDE. 


CHAPTER     III. 

REJECTED   ADDRESSES. 

THROUGH  the  spacious  lengths  of  a  suite  of  richly-furnished 
rooms,  a  woman  was  wandering,  with  that  air  of  nervous  rest 
lessness  which  betokens  a  mind  ill  at  ease.  The  light,  steal 
ing  in  soft  tints  through  the  curtains,  fell  upon  many  pictures 
and  objects  of  taste  and  art,  and  all  that  lavish  richness  of 
plenishing  to  which  wealthy  Gothamites  are  prone — but  upon 
nothing  so  beautiful  as  the  mistress  of  them  all,  who  now 
moved  from  place  to  place,  lifting  a  costly  toy  here,  pailsing 
before  a  picture  there,  but  really  interested  in  neither. 

"  Virginia !" 

Her  cousin  Philip  had  come  in  through  the  library  so 
silently  that  she  was  unaware  of  his  presence  until  he  spoke, 
although  it  was  waiting  for  him  which  had  made  her  so 
uneasy. 

"  Well,  Philip  ?" 

She  had  started  when  he  spoke  her  name,  but  recovered 
her  haughty  self-possession  immediately. 

"  Sit  down,  please,  on  this  sofa.  I  can  not  talk  to  you 
when  you  are  standing.  You  look  too  cold  and  too  impe 
rious.  I  have  come  to-day  for  your  answer,  Virginia." 

They  sat  upon  the  sofa  together,  he  turning  so  as  to  read 
her  face,  which  was  bent  down  as  she  played  with  the  diamond 
ring  upon  her  finger.  She  looked  cool  and  quiet  enough  to 
dampen  the  ardor  of  her  lover ;  but  he  was  so  absorbed  in  his 
own  feelings  that  he  could  not  and  would  not  understand  it. 

"  Speak,  Virginia  !  I  can  not  bear  this  suspense." 

Still  she  hesitated  ;  she  liked  him  too  well  to  take  any  pleas 
ure  in  giving  him  pain,  frivolous  coquette  though  she  was. 

"  I  have  questioned  my  heart  closely,  Philip,  as  you  bade 
me,"  she  began  after  a  few  moments,  "  and  I  have  satisfied 
myself  that  I  can  never  be  happy  as  the  wife  of  a  poor  man." 


LOVE    IX    A    COTTAGE.  17 

"  Then  you  do  not  love  me  !  Love  does  not  put  itself  in 
the  scales  and  demand  to  be  balanced  with  gold," 

"  But  gold  is  very  necessary  to  its  welfare  and  long  life.  No, 
Philip,  I  do  not  know  that  I  love  you — perhaps  I  do  not — 
since  I  am  not  willing  to  make  this  sacrifice.  I  certainly 
think  better  of  you  than  of  any  other  living  man,  except  my 
father ;  I  would  rather  marry  you  than  any  other  man,  if  you 
had  the  wealth  necessary  to  support  me  in  the  station  for 
which  only  I  am  fitted.  A  young  man,  with  nothing  to  rely 
upon  but  the  profession  of  the  law,  in  a  great  city  like  this, 
must  expect  to  wait  some  time  before  he  can  pour  many 
honors  and  much  wealth  into  the  lap  of  the  woman  he  loves." 

"  You  are  sarcastic,  Virginia  !" 

"  No,  only  practical.  My  father  is  not  so  rich  as  in  days 
gone  by.  His  fortune  has  dwindled  until  it  is  barely  sufficient 
to  keep  up  the  house  in  the  old  style.  If  I  would  still  pre 
serve  the  family  pride,  still  rule  queen  of  the  circle  I  have 
brought  around  me,  I  must  marry  rich." 

"  And  for  this  you  can  resign  a  love  like  mine." 

"It  is  my  nature,  Philip— born  in  me,  cherished  in  mo. 
My  father,  I  know,  would  not  listen  to  the  match,  as  highly 
as  he  esteems  you.  I  had  a  sister,  a  woman  when  I  was  a 
child — you  remember  her,  do  you  not  ?  she  married  against 
his  will,  married  poor,  and  tried  this  l  love  in  a  cottage '  senti 
ment — he  never  forgave  her,  and  she  never  prospered ;  she  is 
dead,  poor  thing,  and  I  do  not  care  to  emulate  her." 

"  Humph  !  I  am  to  understand  that  your  father  then  rears . 
his  children  as  slaves  to  be  sold  to  the  highest  bidder — that 
you  hold  yourself  ready  for  the  market  ?" 

"  Don't  provoke  me,  Philip."  The  black  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  him  haughtily. 

"Forgive  me,  Virginia.  I  am  half-mad  just  now,  you 
know.  You  can  not  say  that  you  have  not  encouraged  me." 

"  Perhaps  I  have — shown  you  the  affection  of  a  cousin.  I 
have  felt  as  if  you  were  one  of  the  family.  I  might  even  have 
felt  a  still  closer  interest,  had  I  allowed  myself.  But  I  am, 
what  you  never  will  be — prudent.  I  may  yet  see  some  one 
whom  I  can  really  respect  and  love,  who  has  also  the  fortune 
you  lack ;  if  not,  I  shall  accept  some  one  for  glory's  sake,  and 
let  the  love  go  !  Don't  look  so  scornful,  Phil.  I  have  beauty, 


18  ALICE    WILDE. 

fashion,  pride  of  place,  family,  every  thing  but  the  means 
wherewith  to  set  these  off  magnificently ;  and  this  has  ma.de 
me  ambitious.  Dear  Philip,  much  as  I  like  you,  I  could  never 
be  contented  to  wait  your  slow  promotion." 

"  Prudence  is  very  commendable,  Virginia.  Its  maxims 
fall  with  double  force  from  lips  as  beautiful  as  yours.  I  will 
try  to  learn  it.  I,  a  man,  upon  whom  such  cold  duties  are 
supposed  most  naturally  to  devolve,  will  be  taught  by  you,  a 
soft,  tender  woman,  who  looks  as  if  made  for  the  better  pur 
pose  of  loving  and  teaching  love.  Farewell !  when  you  see 
me  again,  perhaps  I  shall  rival  you  in  prudence." 

"  You  are  not  going  away,  cousin  Philip  V"  He  was  already 
opening  the  door  into  the  hall,  as  she  followed  him,  and 
caught  his  hand. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  am.  Since  only  rich  men  can  possess  the 
happiness  such  gentle  creatures  have  it  in  their  power  to 
bestow,  I  must  make  haste  after  wealth,"  and  he  looked  clown 
bitterly  at  the  proud  girl  over  whose  face  was  coming  a  faint 
expression  of  remorse  and  relenting. 

"  Shall  I  not  hear  from  you  ?"  she  asked,  quite  humbly. 

"  No ;  not  until  I  am  in  a  fair  way  to  achieve  that  which 
will  recommend  me  to  your  disinterested  affection  /" 

He  withdrew  his  hand  from  her  clasp,  and  went  out  with  a 
quick,  resounding  step  which  told  of  the  firmness  of  his  reso 
lution.  The  girl  who  had  rejected  him  sank  down  in  the 
nearest  seat.  She  had  never  seen  him  look  more — as  a  woman 
is  proud  to  have  a  man  look— handsome,  Belt-reliant,  determined, 
than  in  the  hour  of  his  disappointment.  Two  or  three  tears 
trickled  through  her  jeweled  fingers;  she  shook  them  off  im- 
patiently. 

"  He  is  a  man  who  would  never  have  shamed  my  choice," 
she  whispered.  "  But  I  have  decided  for  the  best.  I  know 
my  own  disposition ;  I  should  fret  at  the  chains  which  limited 
my  power.  And  I  am  used  to  every  indulgence.  I  am  self 
ish.  Poor  Phil !  if  somebody  would  present  you  with  a 
check  for  half-a-million,  I'd  marry  you  to-morrow." 

In  the  mean  time  Philip  Moore,  all  the  dregs  stirred  up  from 
the  bottom  of  the  fountain  in  his  usually  transparent  soul, 
hurried  to  the  office  which  he  had  just  set  up  in  Wall-street. 
There,  as  if  in  answer  to  the  wish  which  had  been  aroused,  he 


GOING    WEST.  19 

found  a  letter  from  a  friend  who  had  emigrated  westward  three 
years  previously,  forsaking  the  law  for  speculations  in  pine- 
lands  aiid  lumber,  merchandise,  etc.  He  was  doing  well,  was 
getting  rich  in  seven-league  strides,  had  married  a  -pretty 
western  girl,  was  happy,  had  gone  to  housekeeping,  wanted  a 
partner  in  business  as  well  as  domestic  affairs— recommended 
Philip  to  accept  the  chance — a  few  thousand  dollars  would  bo 
all  the  capital  required. 

Philip  had  seven  thousand  dollars  in  stocks ;  he  sold  out, 
shook  oif  the  dust  from  his  feet  as  lie  left  the  great  metropolis, 
and  answered  his  friend's  letter  in  person,  in  less  than  a  fort 
night. 

Virginia  Moore  missed  the  convenient  escort,  the  constant 
attentions,  and  the  profound  worship  of  her  high-hearted 
cousin ;  but  a  rich  Spaniard,  ugly  and  old,  was  come  into  the 
market,  and  she  was  among  the  bidders.  Let  us  leave  Vir 
ginia  Moore,  and  return  to  that  western  wilderness,  where  a 
certain  little  girl  looks  lovelier,  in  her  blue-gingham  dress  and 
wild-flower  wreath,  than  the  other  in  all  the  family  diamonds. 


20  ALICE    WTLDE. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

BEN    PERKINS. 

THE  day  after  her  father's  return,  Alice  Wilde  sat  down  to 
try  her  new  thimble  in  running  up  the  skirt  of  her  merino 
dress.  The  frock  which  she  wore,  and  all  her  others,  proba 
bly,  were  fashioned  in  the  style  of  twenty  years  ago  — 
short  under  the  arms ;  a  belt  at  the  waist ;  low  in  the  neck ; 
full,  puffed,  short  sleeves;  narrow  skirt,  and  no  crinoline. 
Her  profnse  hair,  when  it  was  not  allowed  to  fall  in  a  golden 
torrent  around  her  neck,  was  looped  up  in  the  quaint  style 
which  marked  the  fashion  of  her  dress.  She  looked  like  the 
portrait,  come  to  life,  of  some  republican  belle  and  beauty  of 
long  ago.  Quite  unconscious  that  this  ancient  style  had  been 
superseded  by  the  balloons  of  to-day,  she  measured  off  the 
three  short  breadths  which,  when  hemmed,  would  leave  her 
pretty  ankles  exposed,  even  as  they  now,  with  the  slippered 
feet,  peeped  from  beneath  her  gingham. 

If  Philip  Moore  had  understood  the  rnantua-maker's  art, 
and  had  possessed  "  patterns"  of  the  latest  mode,  he  would 
not  have  instructed  his  hostess  in  any  changes,  she  looked  so 
picturesque  and  quaint  as  she  was.  But  he  did  not  let  her 
sew  very  steadily  that  day.  He  wanted  to  explore  the  sur 
roundings  of  the  cabin,  and  she  was  his  ready,  intelligent 
guide. 

They  went  back  into  the  forest,  through  which  thundered, 
ever  and  anon,  the  crash  of  a  falling  tree ;  for  many  men  were 
busy  cutting  timber  for  another  raft,  on  which,  at  its  comple 
tion,  Philip  was  to  return  to  Center  City.  His  business  would 
not  have  detained  him  more  than  three  or  four  days,  but  he 
was  in  no  haste ;  he  wanted  to  hunt  and  fish  a  little,  and  he 
liked  the  novelty  of  the  idea  of  floating  down  the  river  on  a 
raft  of  logs  in  company  with  a  score  of  rough  fellows.  Al 
though  David  Wilde  sawed  up  some  of  his  timber  himself,  his 
old-fashioned  mill  was  not  equal  to  the  supply,  and  he  sent 


KID-GLOVE    ATUSTOCRACY.  21 

the  surplus  clown  to  the  steam  saw-mills,  one  of  which  was 
owned  by  Philip  and  his  partner. 

It  called  forth  all  his  affability  to  conquer  the  shyness  of 
his  pretty  guide,  who  at  last  dared  to  look  full  into  his  face 
with  those  brilliant  blue  eyes,  and  to  tell  him  where  the 
brooks  made  the  sweetest  music,  where  the  fawns  came  often- 
est  to  drink,  where  the  violets  lingered  the  latest,  and  where 
there  was  a  grape-vine  swing. 

Both  of  them  looked  very  happy  when  they  came  in,  just 
in  time  to  meet  Mr.  Wilde  at  the  supper-table,  who  had  been 
at  the  mill  all  day.  He  did  not  seem  in  such  good  spirits. 
Some  new  thought  troubled  him.  His  keen,  gray  eyes  scanned 
the  countenance  of  his  child,  as  if  searching  for  something 
hitherto  undiscovered ;  and  then  turned  suspiciously  to  the 
stranger,  to  mark  if  he,  too,  held  the  same  truth.  For  the 
first  time  it  occurred  to  him,  that  his  "  cub,"  his  pet,  was  no 
longer  a  little  girl — that  he  might  have  done  something  fatally 
foolish  in  bringing  that  fine  city  aristocrat  to  his  cabin.  Had 
he  not  always  hated  and  despised  these  dandified  caricatures 
of  men  ? — despised  their  vanity,  falsehood,  and  aifectation  ? — 
hated  their  vices,  their  kid-gloves,  their  perfumed  handker 
chiefs,  and  their  fashionable  nonsense,?  Yet,  pleased  with 
one  of  them,  and  on  a  mere  matter  of  business,  he  had,  with 
out  the  wisdom  of  a  fool,  much  less  of  a  father,  brought  one 
of  that  very  class  to  his  house.  How  angry  he  was  with  him 
self  his  compressed  lip  alone  revealed,  as  he  sharply  eyed  his 
guest.  Yet  the  laws  of  hospitality  were  too  sacred  with  him 
to  allow  of  his  showing  any  rudeness  to  his  guest,  as  a  means 
of  getting  rid  of  him. 

Unconscious  of  the  bitter  jealousy  in  her  father's  heart, 
Alice  was  as  gay  as  a  humming-bird.  She  had  never  been 
happier.  We  are  formed  for  society ;  children  are  charmed 
with  children,  and  youth  delights  in  youth.  Alice  had  been 
ignorant  of  this  sweet  want,  until  she  learned  it  now,  by  hav 
ing  it  gratified.  For,  although  she  had  passed  pleasant  words 
with  such  young  men  as  chanced  to  be  employed  by  her 
father,  they  had  never  seemed  to  her  like  companions,  and  she 
naturally  adopted  the  reserve  which  her  father  also  used  with 
them.  His  cabin  was  his  castle.  No  one  came  there  famil 
iarly,  except  upon  invitation.  The  "  hands"  were  all  fed  and 


23  ALICE    WILDE. 

lodged  in  a  house  by  themselves,  near  the  mill.  The  gloom  of 
the  host  gradually  affected  the  vivacity  of  the  others ;  and  the 
whole  household  retired  early  to  rest. 

The  next  day,  Philip  set  off  to  the  mill  with  Mr.  Wilde, 
carrying  on  his  shoulder  the  excellent  rifle  of  the  latter,  as  he 
proposed,  after  business  was  over,  to  make  a  search  for  deer, 
now  nearly  driven  away  from  that  locality  by  the  sound  of 
the  ax  in  those  solitudes  once  so  deep  and  silent. 

"  Tell  Aunt  Pallas  I'll  bring  her  a  haunch  of  venison  for 
supper,"  he  said  gayly  to  the  young  girl,  touching  his  straw 
hat  with  a  grace  that  quite  confused  her. 

She  looked  after  them  wistfully  as  they  went  away.  She 
felt  lonely  ;  her  sewing  fatigued  her ;  the  sun  was  too  hot  to 
go  out  on  the  water ;  she  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Even  her 
new  books  failed  for  once  to  keep  her  interested  many  hours. 
When  Pallas  looked  for  her  to  help  pick  over  berries  to  dry, 
she  was  not  to  be  found.  She  had  sought  that  delightful 
refuge  of  early  j^outh — the  garret ;  which  in  this  instance  was 
but  a  loft  over  the  main  story,  reached  by  a  ladder,  and  sel 
dom  resorted  to  by  any  one,  except  when  the  raftsman  stored 
away  a  bear-skin,  a  winter's  store  of  nuts,  or  something  of  the 
kind.  To-day  Alice  felt  powerfully  attracted  toward  a  certain 
trunk  which  had  stood  in  that  garret  ever  since  she  could  re 
member.  It  was  always  locked ;  she  had  never  seen  it  open ; 
and  did  not  know  its  contents.  Now,  for  a  wonder,  the  key  was 
in  the  lock;  she  never  thought  of  there  being  any  thing  wrong 
in  the  act,  as  she  had  never  heard  the  trunk  mentioned,  and 
had  never  been  forbidden  access  to  it,  and  lifting  the  lid,  she 
sat  down  beside  it  and  began  an  examination  of  its  mysteries. 
Lifting  up  a  napkin  spread  over  the  top,  she  was  met  by  a 
lovely  face,  looking  up  at  her  from  the  ivory  upon  which  it 
was  so  exquisitely  painted.  The  breath  died  upon  her  lips. 

u  It  must  be  my  mother's  ;  how  very  beautiful  she  was — 
my  mother !" 

Hot  tears  rushed  up  into  her  eyes  at  this  life-like  vision  of 
a  being  she  did  not  remember,  of  whom  old  Pallas  often 
spoke,  but  whom  her  father  seldom  mentioned — never,  save  in 
the  most  intimate  moments  of  their  association.  She  was 
sorry  she  had  opened  the  trunk,  realizing  at  once  that  if  her 
father  had  desired  her  to  know  of  the  miniature  ho  would 


DEEll-HUXTIXG.  S3 

have  shown  it  to  her  years  ago ;  she  had  a  glimpse  of  a  white- 
silk  dress,  some  3^ellow  lace,  a  pair  of  white-silk  slippers,  and 
long  white-kid  gloves,  but  she  would  not  gratify  the  intense 
cariosity  and  interest  which  she  felt,  Sh"  remembered  hear 
ing  her  father  descend  from  the  garret  late  in  the  preceding 
night ;  and  she  guessed  now  the  purpose  of  his  visit. 

An  impulse  was  given  to  her  thoughts  which  drove  away 
lier  restless  mood ;  she  retreated  from  the  loft,  and  set  very 
quietly  to  work  helping  Pallas  with  the  blackberries.  She 
was  sitting  in  the  kitchen-door,  an  apron  on,  and  a  huge 
bowl  in  her  lap,  when  Philip  Moore  came  through  the  pines, 
dragging  after  him  a  young  deer  which  he  had  slain.  "Pallas 
was  on  a  bench  outside  the  shanty,  and  it  was  at  her  feet  the 
hunter  laid  his  trophy. 

"  Bress  you,  masser  Moore,  I'se  mighty  glad  you  went  a 
huntin'.  Miss  Alice  she  laugh  and  say  de  deer  needn't  be 
afraid  of  you,  'cause  you  was  a  city  gentleum,  but  I  tol'  her 
she  didn't  know  nuffin'  about  it.  I  was  afcard  you'd  get 
tired  of  white-fish  and  salmon,  and  bacon  and  fowls, — dis 
ven'sen  jes'  de  meat  I  want." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Pallas,  I  shall  claim  one  of  your  best  pies  as 
my  reward,"  said  the  amateur  hunter,  laughing.  "  But  little 
Alice  here  mustn't  think  no  one  can  do  any  tiling  right  except 
foresters  and  lumbermen." 

"  Oh,  I  don't !"  exclaimed  she,  blushing.  "  I  think  you  do 
every  thing  beautifully,  Mr.  Moore,  that  you've  been  brought 
up  to  do,  you  know — but  shooting  deer— they  don't  do  that  in 
cities,  do  they  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  in  cities  ;  but  there  are  wild  woods  near 
riough  New  York  yet  for  young  men  to  have  a  chance  at 
gaining  that  accomplishment.  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  trust 
me  to'  take  you  out  sailing,  to-morrow7,  would  you  ?" 

"  If  she  would,  yer  couldn't  do  it,  for  I  wrant  the  boat  my 
self.  Captain  Wilde's  goin'  to  send  me  down  to  the  pint  with  it." 

Mr.  Moore  looked  up  in  surprise  at  the  speaker,  who  had  just 
come  up  from  the  river,  and  whose  looks  and  tones  were  still 
ruder  than  his  words. 

"  Hi,  Ben  !  yer  as  surly  as  a  bar,"  spoke  up  Pallas ;  "  yer 
haven't  a  grain  of  perliteness  in  yer  body,"  she  added,  in  a 
lower  tone. 


34  ALICE    W£LDE. 

"  I  leaves  perliteness  to  them  as  is  wimmen  enough  to  want 
it,"  answered  Ben,  throwing  back  a  glance  of  defiance  and 
contempt  at  the  innocent  stranger,  as  he  stepped  into  the 
shanty.  "  I  want  them  new  saws  as  came  home  with  the 
capt'n." 

"  There's  somebody  that  looks  upon  me  in  the  same  light 
you  do,"  laughed  Philip,  when  the  youth  had  secured  the 
saws  and  departed. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Moore,  you  don't  know  how  I  look  upon  you  1" 
she  exclaimed,  earnestly ;  neither  did  he,  any  more  than  lie 
knew  how  the  fate  of  that  black-eyed,  heavy-browed  mill- 
hand  wras  to  be  mixed  and  mingled  with  his  own. 

He  admired  Alice  Wilde  as  he  would  have  done  any  other 
pretty  and  singular  young  creature  ;  but  he  never  thought  of 
loving  her ;  she  was  a  child  in  his  ejres,  ignorant  and  uncul 
tivated  in  many  things,  though  always  graceful  and  refined  ; 
a  child,  who  would  be  out  of  place  in  any  other  sphere  except 
that  peculiar  one  in  which  she  now  moved.  He  did  not 
guess  that  in  her  eyes  he  was  a  hero,  almost  supernatural, 
faultless,  glorious — such  as  an  imaginative  girl  who  had  seen 
nothing  of  the  world,  but  who  had  read  many  poems  and 
much  fiction,  would  naturally  create  out  of  the  first  material 
thrown  in  her  way. 

No  !  all  through  that  happy  fortnight  of  his  visit  he  talked 
with  her  freely,  answering  her  eager  questions  about  the 
world  from  which  she  was  so  secluded,  roamed  the  woods 
with  her,  sailed  the  river,  played  his  flute,  sang  favorite  love- 
songs,  and  all  without  reflecting  upon  the  deathless  impression 
he  was  making.  Keen  eyes  were  upon  him,  and  saw  nothing 
to  justify  censure;  he  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea  of  that 
little  wild  girl  falling  in  love  with  him,  if  he  had  thought  of  it 
at  all ;  but  he  did  not  think  of  it ;  sometimes  he  frolicked  with 
her,  as  if  they  were  both  children ;  and  sometimes  he  kindly 
took  upon  himself  the  pleasant  task  of  teaching  her  in  matters 
about  which  she  showed  an  interest.  He  was  touched  by  her 
beauty  and  innocence ;  and  was  extremely  guarded  in  her 
presence  not  to  let  a  hint  of  evil  be  breathed  upon  that  young 
soul — her  father,  Pallas,  all  who  approached  her,  seemed  nat 
urally  to  pay  her  purity  the  same  deference. 

The  raft  for  which  Philip  was  waiting  was  now  in  readi- 


A    DECLARATION    OF    LOVE.  25 

ness,  and  was  to  commence  its  drifting  journey  upon  the  next 
day.  Alice  had  fled  away  into  the  pine-woods,  after  dinner, 
to  anticipate,  with  dread,  her  coming  loneliness ;  for  her 
father  was  also  to  accompany  it,  and  would  be  absent  nearly 
three  weeks.  Her  footsteps  wandered  to  a  favorite  spot, 
where  the  grape-vine  swing  had  held  her  in  its  arms,  many 
and  many  a  frolic  hour.  She  sat  down  in  it,  swinging  herself 
slowly  to  and  fro.  Presently  a  footfall  startled  her  from  her 
abstraction,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Ben  Perkins  coming 
along  the  path  with  a  cage  in  his  hand,  of  home  manufacture, 
containing  a  gorgeous  forest-bird  Avhich  lie  had  captured. 

"  I  reckon  I  needn't  go  no  further,  Miss  Alice,"  he  said ; 
"  I  war  a  bringin'  this  bird  to  see  if  you'd  be  so  agreeable  as 
to  take  it.  I  cotched  it,  yesterday,  in  the  wood," 

"  Oh,  Ben,  how  pretty  it  is  !"  she  cried,  quickly  brushing 
away  her  tears,  that  he  might  not  guess  what  she  had  been 
crying  about. 

"  It  sings  like  any  thing.  It's  a  powerful  fine  singer,  Miss 
Alice — I  thought  mebbe  't  would  be  some  comfort  to  ye,  seein' 
yer  about  to  lose  that  flute  that's  been  turnin'  yer  head  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? — you  speak  so  roughly,  Ben." 

"  I  know  I  ain't  particularly  smooth-spoken  7  but  I  mean 
what  I  say,  which  is  more  'n  some  folks  do.  Some  folks 
thinks  it  good  sport  to  be  telling  you  fine  fibs,  I've  no  doubt." 

"  Why  do  you  wish  to  speak  ill  of  those  of  whom  you  have 
no  reason  to,  Ben  ?  It  isn't  generous." 

u  But  I  have  reason  —  O  Alice,  you  don't  know  how 
much  !"  he  set  the  bird-cage  down,  and  came  closer  to  her. 
"  I've  got  suthin'  to  say  that  I  can't  keep  back  no  longer. 
Won't  you  set  down  'side  of  me  on  this  log  ?" 

"  I'd  rather  stand,  Ben,"  she  said,  drawing  back  as  he  was 
about  to  take  her  hand. 

The  quivering  smile  upon  his  lip  when  he  asked  the  ques 
tion  changed  to  a  look  which  half  frightened  her,  at  her  ges 
ture  of  refusal. 

"  You  didn't  object  to  settin'  by  that  town  chap ;  you  sot 
here  on  this  very  iog  with  him,  for  I  seen  you.  Cuss  him,  and 
his  fine  clothes,  I  say !" 

"  I  can  not  listen  to  you,  Ben,  if  you  use  such  language  ;  I 
don't  know  what's  the  matter  with  you  to-day,"  and  she  turned 
to  go  home. 


26  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what's  the  matter,  Alice  Wilde,"  and  he 
caught  her  hand  almost  fiercely.  "I  can't  keep  still  any 
longer  and  see  that  feller  hangin'  'round.  I  didn't  mean  to 
speak  this  long  time  yet,  but  that  stranger's  driven  me  crazy. 
Do  you  'spose  I  kin  keep  quiet  and  see  him  smirking  and 
bowin'  and  blowin'  on  that  blasted  flute,  around  you ;  and 
you  lookin'  at  him  as  if  yer  couldn't  take  ye?  eyes  off  ?  DC 
you  s'pose  I  kin  keep  quiet  and  see  him  making  a  simpleton 
of  the  purtiest  girl  that  ever  growd  ?  You  needn't  wince — 
it's  true ;  jist  as  soon  as  he'd  got  away  from  here  he'd  forget 
all  about  you,  or  only  think  of  you  to  laugh  at  your  hoosier 
ways  with  some  proud  lady  as  fine  as  himself." 

"  Oh,  I  am  afraid  it's  too  true  !"  burst  forth  Alice,  involun 
tarily. 

"  Yer  may  bet  yer  life  on  that,  Alice  Wilde  !  Or,  at  the 
best,  he'd  take  yer  away  from  yer  own  old  father  as  loves  the 
ground  you  tread,  and  try  and  make  a  lady  of  you,  and  never 
let  you  speak  to  your  own  flesh  and  blood  agin.  While  I — 
I  wouldn't  do  nuthin'  but  what  yer  father  wanted  ;  I'd  settle 
down  side  of  him,  work  for  him,  see  to  things,  and  take  the 
care  off  his  mind  when  he  got  old.  Yer  father  hates  them 
proud  peacocks,  Alice — he  Jiates  'em,  and  so  do  I !  I  know 
he'd  rather  have  me.  Say  yes,  do  now,  that's  a  good  girl." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Ben,"  said  Alice,  coldly,  trying  to 
pass,  for  she  was  troubled  and  wanted  to  get  away. 

"  I'll  tell  you  then,"  he  said,  "  I  want  you  to  many  me, 
Alice.  I've  been  thinking  about  it  these  two  years — night  and 
day,  night  and  day." 

u  Why,  Ben,"  cried  the  startled  child,  "/  never  thought  of 
it — never  !  and  I  can  not  now.  Father  will  be  very  angry 
with  you.  Let  go  of  my  hand  ;  I  want  to  go  home." 

"  You  ain't  a  little  girl  any  longer,  Alice  Wilde,  and  I  guess 
yer  father  '11  find  it  out.  He  may  be  mad  for  a  spell ;  but 
he'll  get  over  it ;  and  when  he  comes  to  think  of  the  chances 
of  his  clyin'  and  leavin'  yer  alone,  he'll  give  his  consent. 
Come,  Alice,  say  yes,  do,  now  ?" 

The  intense  eagerness  of  his  manner  made  her  tremble,  from 
sympathy,  but  she  looked  into  his  blazing  eyes  firmly,  as  she 
replied,  "  Never !  so  long  as  I  live,  never  !  And  you  must  not 
speak  of  it  again,  unless  you  want  to  be  discharged  from — " 


HATE.  27 

"  Don't  you  threaten  me,  Miss  Alice.  I  ain't  the  stuff  to  be 
threatened.  If  I'd  have  said  what  I've  said  this  day,  three 
weeks  ago,  you  wouldn't  have  been  so  mighty  cool.  Not 
that  I  think  I'm  good  enough  for  ye — there  ain't  the  man 
livin'  that's  that ;  but  I'm  as  good  as  some  as  thinks  them 
selves  better — and  I  won't  be  bluffed  off  by  any  broadcloth  coat. 
I've  loved  you  ever  since  you  were  a  little  girl,  and  fell  in  the 
mill-pond  onct,  and  I  fished  ye  out.  I've  loved  ye  more  years 
than  he's  seen  ye  weeks,  and  I  won't  be  bluffed  off.  Jes'  so 
sure  as  I  live,  that  man  shall  never  marry  you,  Alice  Wilde." 

"  He  never  thought  of  it ;  and  it  hurts  me,  Ben,  to  have 
you  speak  of  it.  Let  me  go  now,  this  instant." 

She  pulled  her  hand  out  of  his,  and  hurried  away,  forgetful 
of  the  bird  he  had  given  her. 

Love,  rage,  and  despair  were  in  the  glance  he  cast  after 
her;  but  when,  a  few  moments  later,  as  he  made  his  way 
back  toward  the  mill,  he  passed  Philip  Moore,  who  gave  him 
a  pleasant,  careless  nod,  Jiate — the  dangerous  hate  of  envy, 
jealousy,  and  ignorance,  darkened  his  swarthy  brow. 

Poor  Alice,  nervous  almost  to  sobbing,  pursued  her  home 
ward  way.  She  had  never  thought  of  marriage  except  as  a 
Paradise  in  some  far,  Arcadian  land  of  dreams  which  she  had 
fashioned  from  books  and  the  instincts  of  her  young  heart ; 
and  now  to  have  the  idea  thrust  upon  her  by  this  rude,  deter 
mined  fellow,  who  doubtless  considered  himself  her  equal, 
shocked  her  as  a  bird  is  shocked  and  hurt  by  the  rifle's 
clamor.  And  if  this  young  man  thought  himself  a  fit  husband 
for  her,  perhaps  others  thought  the  same — perhaps  her  father 
would  wisli  her  to  accept  him,  some  time  in  the  far  future — 
perhaps  Philip— ah,  Philip  !  how  almost  glorified  he  looked 
to  her  vision  as  at  that  moment  he  came  out  of  the  forest- 
shadows  into  the  path,  his  straw-hat  in  his  hand,  and  the 
wind  tossing  his  brown  hair. 

"  Here  is  the  little  humming-bird,"  at  last !  was  it  kind  of 
her  to  fly  away  by  herself  on  this  last  afternoon  of  my  stay  ?" 

How  gay  his  voice,  how  beaming  his  smile,  while  sJie  was 
so  sad  !  she  felt  it  and  grew  sadder  still.  She  tried  to  reply 
as  gayly,  but  her  lip  trembled. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  little  Wilde-rose  ?"  he  asked, 
kindly  looking  down  into  the  suffused  eyes. 


28  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  I've  been  thinking  how  very  lonely  I  shall  be.  My  father 
is  going  away,  too,  you  know,  and  I  shall  have  no  one  but 
good  old  Pallas." 

"And  that  handsome  young  man  I  just  saw  parting  from 
you,"  he  said,  mischievously,  looking  to  see  her  blush  and 
smile. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Moore,  is  it  possible  you  think  I  could  care  for 
him?"  she  asked,  with  a  sudden  air  of  womanly  pride  which 
vanished  in  a  deep  blush  the  next  instant. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  you  are  too  good  for  him,"  he  an 
swered,  frankly,  as  if  the  idea  had  just  occurred  to  him. 

An  expression  of  pain  swept  over  Alice's  face. 

"  I  know,  Mr.  Moore,  how  yon  must  regard  me ;  and  I  can 
not  blame  you  for  it.  I  know  that  I  am  ignorant — a  foolish, 
ignorant  child,— that  my  dress  is  odd,  my  manner  awkward, 
— that  the  world,  if  it  should  see  me,  would  laugh  at  me — that 
my  inind  is  uncultivated, — but  oh,  Mr.  Moore,  you  do  not 
know  how  eager  I  am  to  learn— how  hard  I  should  study !  I 
wish  my  father  would  send  me  away  to  school." 

"  That  would  just  spoil  your  sweet,  peculiar  charms,  little 
Alice." 

Pie  smoothed  her  hair  soothingly,  as  he  would  have  done  a 
child's ;  but  something  in  her  tone  had  put  a  new  thought  in 
his  mind  ;  he  looked  at  her  earnestly  as  she  blushed  beneath 
this  first  slight  caress  which  he  had  ever  given  her.  "  Can  it 
be  so  ?"  he  asked  himself;  and  in  his  eyes  the  young  girl  sud 
denly  took  more  womanly  proportions.  "  How  very — how 
exquisitely  beautiful  she  is  now,  with  the  soul  glowing  through 
her  face.  Shall  I  ever  again  see  a  woman  such  as  this — pure 
as  an  infant,  loving,  devoted,  unselfish,  and  so  beautiful  ?" 
Another  face,  haughty,  clear-cut,  with  braids  of  perfumed 
black  hair,  arose  before  his  mental  vision,  and  took  place  be 
side  this  sweet,  troubled  countenance.  One  so  unmoved,  so 
determined,  even  in  the  moment  of  giving  bitter  pain — this 
other  so  confiding,  so  shy,  so  full  of  every  girlish  beauty. 
Philip  was  touched — almost  to  saying  something  which  he 
might  afterward  regret ;  but  he  was  a  Moore,  and  he  had  his 
pride  and  his  prejudices,  stubborn  as  old  Mortimer  Moore's, 
nearly.  These  hardened  his  heart  against  the  sentiment  he 
saw  trembling  through  that  eloquent  countenance. 


A    WILDE-HOSE.  29 

"  You  arc  but  a  little  girl  yet,  and  will  have  plenty  of 
chance  to  grow  wise,"  he  continued  playfully.  "  This  pretty 
Wilde-rose  '  needs  not  the  foreign  aid  of  ornament.'  When  I 
come  again,  I  hope  to  find  her  just  as  she  is  now — unless  she 
should  have  become  the  bride  of  that  stalwart  forester." 

"  Then  you  are  corning  again  ?"  she  asked,  ignoring  the 
cruel  kindness  of  the  latter  part  of  his  speech,  and  thinking 
only  of  that  dim  future  possibility  of  again  seeing  and  hearing 
him,  again  being  in  his  presence,  no  matter  how  indifferent  he 
might  be  to  her. 

For  Alice  Wilde,  adoring  him  as  no  man  ever  deserved  to 
be  adored,  still,  in  her  forest  simplicity,  called  not  her  passion 
love,  nor  cherished  it  from  any  hope  of  its  being  reciprocated. 
No ;  she  herself  considered  herself  unworthy  of  the  thought 
of  on?e  so  much  more  accomplished,  so  much  wiser  than  her 
self.  Her's  was 

"  The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 
Of  the  night  for  the  morrow  ;" 

and  now  that  there  was  a  chance  in  the  future  for  her  to  burn 
her  white  wings  still  more  cruelly,  she  grew  a  shade  happier. 

"  I  have  business  with  your  father  which  will  bring  me 
here  again,  perhaps  this  fall,  in  October,  certainly,  in  the 
spring.  What  shall  I  bring  you  when  I  come  again,  Alice  ? 
You've  been  a  kmd  hostess,  and  I  owe  you  many  happy 
hours.  I  should  like  to  make  you  some  trifling  return." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face  sadly,  thinking  she  should  like 
to  ask  him  to  remember  her,  but  she  dared  not  trust  herself. 

"  If  you  will  select  some  books— such  as  you  think  I  ought 
to  study,  my  father  will  buy  them  for  me." 

"  Don't  you  love  jewelry  and  such  pretty  trifles  as  other 
girls  seek  after  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know  ;  I've  no  doubt  I  could  cultivate  such 
a  liking,"  she  replied,  with  some  of  her  native  archness. 

"  I  wouldn't  try  very  hard— you're  better  without,"  he  said, 
pressing  a  light  kiss  on  her  forehead  ;  and  the  two  went  slow- 
Jy  home,  walking  more  silently  than  was  their  wont. 

Pallas  saw  them,  as  they ^  came  up  through  the  garden,  and 
gave  them  a  scrutinizing  look  which  did  not  seem  to  fee  satis 
factory. 


30  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  Dat  chile's  troubles  jes'  began,"  she  murmured  to  herself. 
"  Ef  dese  yer  ole  arms  could  hide  her  away  from  ebery  sor 
row,  Pallas  would  be  happy.  But  dey  can't.  Things  happen 
as  sure  as  the  worl'  ;  and  girls  will  be  girls— it's  in  era  ;  jes' 
as  sartin  as  it's  in  eggs  to  be  chickens,  and  acorns  to  be  oaks. 
Hi  !  hi !" 


TERRIBLE    NEWS.  31 


CHAPTER     V. 

AN    APPALLING    VISITOR. 

ONE  bright  September  clay,  after  David  Wilde  had  been 
gone  about  a  week  with  his  raft,  a  wood-cutter  came  to  the 
cabin  with  bad  news.  He  informed  Alice  that  the  woods 
were  on  fire  two  or  three  miles  back,  and  that  the  wind  was 
driving  the  fire  in  a  broad  belt  of  a  mile  wide  directly  toward 
the  house ;  that  if  the  wind  did  not  subside  with  the  setting 
of  the  sun,  nothing  could  preserve  the  place  from  destruction 
by  the  middle  of  the  next  day.  Alice  had  been  sitting  at  the 
window,  thinking  how  delicious  that  soft,  dry  wind  was ,  but 
now  she  prayed  with  all  her  heart  that  it  might  speedily  die. 
It  was  yet  many  hours  to  sunset ;  and  she,  with  Pallas,  went 
into  the  forest  until  they  could  see  the  fire,  and  were  in  some 
danger  from  the  "drifting  sparks.  The  foresters  shook  their 
heads  and  told  her  to  be  prepared  for  the  worst ;  Pallas 
groaned  and  prayed  as  if  she  had  been  at  a  camp-meeting ; 
but  Alice,  although  she  trembled  before  the  mighty  power  of 
the  conflagration,  endeavored  not  to  lose  her  presence  of  mind. 

"  I  shall  hope  for  the  best,"  she  said  to  the  men,  "  but  shall 
be  prepared  for  the  worst.  Go  to  the  mill  and  bring  round 
by  the  river  all  the  skiffs  you  can  muster — there  are  two  or 
three,  are  there  not  ?  They  will  be  ready  by  evening,  and  if 
the  wind  does  not  change,  or  go  down,  by  that  time, 'we  will 
try  and  .save  the  furniture  by  means  of  the  boats.  Come,  Pal 
las,  let  us  go  home  and  pack  up  the  smaller  things." 

"  Home !"  The  word  sounded  sweet,  when  destruction 
hovered  so  near ;  but  Alice  had  a  brave  heart ;  she  would- 
think  of  nothing  now  but  of  being  equal  to  the  emergency ; 
her  calmness  had  a  salutary  effect  upon  the  characteristic 
excitability  of  her  sable  attendant,  who  followed  her  back. in 
quite  a  composed  and  serviceable  mood. 

Moving   quietly   about,    putting-    her    precious    books    into 


32  ALICE    WILDE. 

packages,  and  getting  into  movable  shape  all  those  little 
articles  of  household  use  which  become  so  dear  from  associa 
tion,  a,  looker-on  would  hardly  have  guessed  how  anxiously 
the  young  girl  waited  for  sunset — how  earnestly  she  wished 
that  her  father  had  been  at  home. 

"  My  !  my  !  dat  nigger  of  mine  is  a  wusser  fool  'an  ever," 
said  Pallas,  as  she  bustled  about  like  an  embodied  storm ; 
ujes'  see  him,  Miss  Alice;  he's  went  and  put  on  his  bes'  clo'es, 
and  dar'  he  stands,  nebber  doin'  a  single  ting,  but  jes'  holding 
dem  new  boots  of  his." 

"  What  are  you  dressed  np  for,  Saturn,"  called  Alice,  laugh 
ing,  in  spite  of  her  anxiety,  to  find  that  hc.Jjiad  made  provision 
for  that  which  was  dearest  to  nim— his  "hew  suit  would  be 
saved  if  he  was,  and  if  he  perished,  it  would  share  his  fate. 

"  Oh,  missus,"  he  replied,  looking  foolish,  "  it's  the  easiest 
way  to  carry  'em." 

"Better  put  your  boots  on,  also;  then  you'll  have  your 
hands  to  work  with,"  suggested  Alice. 

"  Jes'  so,  missus ;  I  never  tough t  of  dat ;"  and  on  went  the 
boots,  after  which  Saturn  was  ready  to  get  as  much  in  the 
way  as  possible. 

At  sunset,  the  boats,  consisting  of  two  little  skiffs  which 
would  hold  but  small  freightage,  and  one  larger  boat  which 
would  accomodate  the  heavier  pieces  of  furniture,  were  moor- 

The  sun  went  down  in  a  clear  sky ;  there  were  no  clouds  to 
ed  under  the  stately  old  elm  which  had  so  long  stood  sentinel 
over  that  forest  home.  Three  or  four  men,  among  whom  was 
Ben  Perkins,  held  themselves  in  readiness  to  give  the  necessary 
assistance. 

threaten  a  wished-for  rain;  but  that  cold,  firm  wind  which 
sometimes  blows  unceasingly  three  days  at  a  time,  in  the 
autumn  months,  rose  higher  and  higher.  There  was  no  moon> 
and  as  twilight  deepened  into  night,  the  thick  smoke  which 
hung  above  the  earth  rendered  the  darkness  intense ;  and 
occasionally  when  heavy  volumes  of  smoke  dropped  lower 
toward  the  earth,  the  atmosphere  was  suffocating. 

Pallas  prepared  supper  for  all,  with  a  strong  cup  of  coffee 
to  keep  off  drowsiness ;  and  no  one  retired  to  bed  that  night. 
Shortly  after  midnight  the  fire  traveled  within  sight ;  the  roar 
of  the  conflagration  swelled  and  deepened  until  it  was  like  the 


THE    FOREST    ON    FIRE.  33 

clashing  of  a  thousand  seas;  the  hot  breath  of  the  flames 
aroused  the  wind,  until  it  rushed  in  fury  directly  toward  the 
cabin.  Light  flashes  of  flame  would  run  from  tree-top  to  tree- 
top,  while  farther  back  was  a  solid  cone  of  fire — trunks  from 
which  all  the  foliage  and  lesser  branches  had  fallen,  stretching 
their  glowing  arms  across  the  darkness,  towering  up  against 
the  starless  background.  Frequently  these  fiery  columns 
would  crumble,  with  crashes  scarcely  heard  through  the  con 
tinuous  roar,  sending  up  a  fitful  shower  of  sparks  to  be  whirled 
on  high  by  the  rushing  currents  of  air. 

Fascinated  by  the  beautiful,  appalling  scene,  Alice  sat  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  from  which  her 
pale,  excited  face  shone  like  a  star,  kindling  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  rude  men  about  her  to  do  something  in  her  service.  As 
for  Ben,  he  scarcely  looked  at  the  lire — his  e}res  were  upon 
the  girl. 

"  It's  no  use,"  he  said  to  her,  about  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  "  waitin'  any  longer.  That  fire  will  be  on  this  very 
spot  by  break  of  day.  The  wind's  a  blowin'  a  perfect  gale. 
Ain't  you  cold,  Miss  Alice  ?" 

"  No,  no — not  at  all.  If  you  think  .  it  the  only  way,  then 
let  us  begin.  My  father's  desk,  with  his  papers,  stands  in  his 
bedroom.  .See  to  that  first,  Ben,  and  then  the  other  things." 

It  did  not  take  long  for  the  active  fellows  engaged  to  clear 
the  cabin  of  all  fts  contents ;  every  thing  was  put  into  the 
boats— and  then,  as  Ben  said,  "  it  was  high  time  to  clear  out" 

The  smoke  was  suffocating,  and  sparks  and  small  branches 
of  burning  trees  were  beginning  to  fall  around.  Saturn  and 
.Pallas  were  safely  stowed  in  the  largest  boat,  while  Alice 
paddled  out  into  the  stream  in  hef  own  tiny  canoe.  The 
track  of  the  lire  was  a  mile  in  width ;  but  the  mill  was  not 
threatened  by  it,  nor  much  troubled  by  the  smoke,  the  wind 
carrying  it  in  another  direction.  The  house  then  occupied  by 
the  mill-hands  must  be  the  present  shelter  of  the  captain's 
family. 

Down  the  river,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  conflagration,  floated 
.the  little  convoy.  The  smoke  was  not  so  dense  about  them 
now ;  it  hung  high  above,  and  rolled  in  dark  billows  far  be 
yond.  The  stream  was  crimson  with  the  reflection,"  and  the 
faces  of  the  party  looked  pallid  in  the  lurid  glare — always 
2 


34  ALICE    WILDE. 

excepting  those  two  sable  faces,  turned,  with  awe  and  dread, 
toward  that  sublime  picture  of  devastation. 

Suddenly  Alice,  who  was  in  advance,  dropped  back. 

"  I  must  return  to  the  house,"  she  cried,  as  she  came  along 
side  of  the  boat  containing  Ben  and  the  old  servants. 

"  No,  you  mus'n't,"  shouted  Ben  ;  "  it's  too  late.  It's  getting 
mighty  warm  here  now  ;  and  them  flyin'  branches  '11  hit  ye." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  replied  Alice,  firmly.  "  There's  something 
in  the  garret  I  must  have.  Father  would  never  forgive  us  for 
forgetting  that  trunk,  Pallas." 

"  Law,  suz  !  clat  trunk  !  sure  enough,"  groaned  Pallas. 

"  I  must  get  it,"  said  the  young  girl. 

"  How  can  you,  chile  ?  it's  locked,  so  yer  can't  get  out  the 
things,  and  of  course  you  couldn't  carry  it  down.  Come  back  ! 
oh,  come  back,  dear  chile,  won't  yer?  What's  forty  trunks  to 
yer  own  precious  life,  chile?  and  them  sparks  Tll  set  your 
dress  on  fire,  and  the  heat  '11  smother  yer  all  up." 

"  I've  got  a  hatchet,  and  I'll  break  it  open,"  shouted  Alice, 
now  fast  rowing  back  toward  the  cabin. 

u  That  girl's  right  down  crazy,"  said  Ben  Perkins ;  "  here  Sat 
urn,  take  these  oars,  and  make  'em  fly.  I'm  goin'  after  h£r." 

He  tln-eAv  off  his  jacket  and  boots,  plunged  into  the  stream, 
swam  ashore,  and  ran  along  the  bank,  keeping  pace  with  the 
skiff.  Both  reached  the  house  at  the  same  instant,  they  were 
gone  perhaps  three  minutes,  and  came  forth  again,  Ben  carry 
ing  the  trunk  upon  his  shoulder.  One  instant  they  paused  to 
look  upon  the  wall  of  fire  behind  them ;  but  the  heat  was  in 
tolerable. 

"  These  falling  bits  will  sartainly  set  your  clothing  a-blaze," 
said  Ben,  hurrying  the  young  girl  away,  who  would  fain  have 
lingered  }^et  around  the  home  which  had  grown  dear  to  her 
with  her  growth — already  the  garden  was  withering,  and  the 
vines  she  had  planted  were  drooping  before  their  impending 
ruin. 

"My  dress  is  woolen,"  she  said  ;  "but  I  will"  go.  Oh,  Ben, 
this  is  terrible,  is  it  not  ?"  ' 

"  Yes,  Miss  Alice,  but  if  ye  get  away  safe  now,  you  may 
thank  yer  stars.  I  don't  believe  the  canoe  '11  hold  you  and 
the  trunk  both,"  he  remarked,  as  he  deposited  Ms  precious 
(to  Alice)  burden  in  the  bottom  of  it. 


SUFFOCAHX&  WITH  SMOKR  35 

w  Yes  it  will— but  you,  Ben  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  ain't  of  as  much  consequence  as  a  trunk,"  he  re 
plied,  bitterly.  "Take  car'  of  yourself — don't  mind  me." 

"  I  shan't  stir  fro.n  this  spot  until  you  come  with  ine,  Ben. 
So  get  into  the  boat,  quick." 

"  Get  in  yourself,  Miss  Alice,  and  make  good  time.  You'll 
be  baked  like  a  brick,  if  yer  don't  get  out  of  this  soon.  I'm 
going  to  swim  'long  side.  What's  a  mile  or  two,  swimmin' 
down  stream  ?"  He  threw  himself  in  the  water,  and  struck 
out,  as  he  spoke. 

She  kept  beside  of  him,  refusing  to  go  foster  than  he,  that 
she  might  give  him  aid,  iti  case  he  became  exhausted ;  the 
river  at  this  spot  was  over  a  mile  in  width,  and  it  would  have 
been  difficult  for  him,  tired  and  heated  as  he  already  was,  to 
make  the  opposite  shore. 

As  they  made  their  way  along  in  this  manner,  the  wind 
swei.t  the  hot  breath  of  the  fire  around  them  in  suffocating 
waves.  The  cold  surface  of  the  river  kept  the  air  compara 
tively  pure  for  two  or  three  feet  above  it,  or  they  would  have 
smothered ;  but  as  it  was,  Alice  gasped  for  breath  convulsively 
at  times. 

"  Alice  !  Alice  !  you  are  sufferin' — you  can't  stand  it,"  cried 
her  companion  in  a  voice  which  betrayed  the  agony  of  his 
soul — it  thrilled  through  her,  it  was  so  sharp  with  pain. 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  Ben,  we're  nearly  clear  of  the  fire,  now;" 
but  struggle  as  bravely  as  she  might,  she  could  endure  the 
heat  no  longer,  and  she,  too,  leaped  into  the  river,  and  shelter 
ing  herself  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  skiff,  swam  boldly  on, 
holding  a  small  rope  in  her  hand  which  secured  it  from  float 
ing  off. 

As  soon  as  the  advance  party  had  got  out  of  the  smoke  and 
heat,  they  waited  the  return  of  the  two,  who  made  their 
appearmce  in  an  alarming  condition,  Alice  having  become 
exhausted  in  the  water,  and  Ben  having  her  in  one  arm,  and 
swimming  with  the  other,  while  he  towed  the  skiff  by  a  rope 
held  between  his  teeth. 

Alice  fainted  away  when  she  found  herself  safe  in  Pallas' 
motherly  arms;  and  Ben  migli't  have  followed  her  example 
had  not  one  of  his  comrades  heeu  ready  with  a  flask  of  spirits. 
It  was  thought  best  to  administer  the  same  restorative  to  the 


36  ALICE   WILDE. 

young  girl,  who  soon  revived,  murmuring :  "  Father  will  be 
so  glad  the  trunk  is  safe,  Pallas." 

As  the  morning  broke,  the  party  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
mill.  It  was  two  or  three  days  before  Alice  was  well  enough 
to  visit  the  ruins  of  her  beloved  home ;  and  then  she  could 
only  row  along  the  river  and  gaze  upon  the  blackened  and 
smoking  mass,  for  the  earth  was  still  too  hot  to  be  ventured 
upon.  The  cabin  smoldered  in  a  heap ;  the  top  of  the  great 
elm  was  blackened  and  the  foliage  gone,  but  it  had  not  fallen, 
and  the  grass  was  crisped  and  withered  to  the  edge  of  the 
river. 

The  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks  as  she  gazed ;  but  with 
the  hopefulness  of  youth,  she  passed  on,  seeking  a  new  spot  to 
consecrate  as  a  second  home.  It  was  vain  to  think  of  rebuild 
ing  in  the  same  vicinity,  as  all  its  beauty  was  destroyed,  and 
it  would  take  some  years  for  it  to  renew  itself.  She  knew  that 
her  father  did  not  wish  to  live  too  near  to  his  mill,  as  h-e  had 
always  kept  his  home  aloof  from  it ;  that  he  would  be  satisfied 
with  such  a  spot  as  she  liked ;  and  she  was  ambitious  to  begin 
the  work,  for  she  knew  the  winter  would  be  upon  thern 
before  they  could  complete  a  new  house,  if  plans  were  not 
early  made.  There  was  a  lovely  spot  just  beyond  the  ravages 
of  the  fire,  where  the  river  made  a  crescent  which  held  in  its 
hollow  a  grove  of  beech  and  elm  and  a  sloping  lawn,  standing 
in  advance  of  the  dark  pines  stretching  back  into  the  interior. 
As  her  father  owned  the  land  for  some  distance  along  the 
shore  she  was  at  liberty  to  make  her  choice,  and  she  made 
it  here. 

Ben  Perkins,  when  necessity  demanded,  was  the  carpenter 
of  the  place.  He  had  a  full  set  of  tools,  and  there  were  others 
of  the  men  capable  of  helping  him?;  There  was  timber,  plenty 
of  it,  already  sawed,  for  the  frame  of  the  new  house,  and  while 
a  portion  went  to  work  upon  it,  boards  were  sawed  for  the 
siding,  and  shingles  turned  out  of  the  shingle-machine.  As 
the  "hands"  said,  Alice  made  an  excellent  captain.  :-j3 

A  little  sleeping-apartment  had  been  constructed  for  her  off 
the  main  cabin,  at  the  mill,  and  her  own  bed  put  up  in  it ; 
but  she  did  not  like  the  publicity  of  the  table  and  the  place, 
and  longed  for  the  new  hyine  to  be  completed. 

The  emotions  of  David  "Wilde  were  not  enviable  when,  upon 


THE    NEW    HOUSE.  37 

his  return,  lie  came  in  sight  of  the  blackened  ruins  of  his 
home.  He  did  not  so  much  heed  the  vast  destruction  of 
valuable  timber,  as  he  did  the  waste  of  that  snug  little,  vine- 
covered  cabin,  with  the  garden,  the  flowers,  and  the  associa 
tions  clustering  about  all.  The  first  question  he  asked  when 
he  clasped  his  child  to  his  heart,  and  found  her  safe,  was  of 
old  Pallas :  "  That  trunk  in  the  garret — was  it  saved  V 

"  Pickaninny  saved  dat  ar'  trunk,  masser.  She  tought  you 
had  suthiu'  important  in  it,  and  she  would  go  back ;"  and 
Alice  felt  repaid  for  all  the  risk  she  had  run,  when  she  saw 
the  look  of  relief  upon  her  father's  face. 

Ben  Perkins  had  planned  the  new  house,  the  frame  of 
which  was  ready  to  be  raised  the  day  after  the  captain's  return. 
Whether  he  had  cunningly  calculated  that  the  family  would 
some  time  be  increased,  or  not,  certain  it  is  that  he  made 
liberal  allowance  for  such  a  contingency.  He  had  much 
natural  talent  as  an  architect,  and  from  some  printed  plans 
which  had  fallen  into  his  possession,  he  contrived  a  very 
pretty  rustic  cottage,  with  sharp-pointed  gables  something  in 
the  Gothic  style,  and  a  porch  in  front.  Alice  was  charmed 
with  it. 

"  We'll  get  the  house  in  livin'  order  in  a  month  or  two ; 
but  yer  can't  have  all  the  fixin's  over  the  windows  and  the 
porch  afore  spring ;  I'll  have  to  make  'em  all  by  hand,  through 
the  winter,  when  thar'  ain't  much  else  a-doin'." 

Ben  was  ambitious  to  conciliate  Alice,  and  to  make  her  feel 
how  useful  he  could  be  to  her  and  her  father.  Love  prompt 
ed  his  head  and  hands  to  accomplish  wonders.  Poor  Ben ! 
work  as  he  might,  gain  her  expressions  of  gratitude  and  admi 
ration  as  he  might,  that  was  the  most.  There  was  always  a 
reserve  about  her  which  held  his  fiery  feelings  in  check.  His 
was  not  a  nature,  either  to  check  and  control  its  own  strong 
passions,  or  to  give  up  an  object  upon  which  they  were 
once  set. 

A  settled  gloom  came  over  his  olive  face,  and  his  eyes 
burned  like  smoldering  fires  beneath  their  black  brows.  He 
no  longer  had  pleasant  remarks  to  make ;  no  longer  brought 
daily  gifts  of  fish,  birds,  berries,  squirrels,  venison,  or  grapes  to 
Alice;  no  longer  tried  to  break  down  her  reserve — he  just 
worked — worked  constantly,  pergPreringly,  moodily. 


38  ALICE    WILDE. 

Alice  herself  was  scarcely  more  gay.  He  guessed  whoso 
image  filled  her  mind,  when  she  sat  so  long  without  moving, 
looking  off  at  the  frost-tinted  forests ;  and  the  thought  was 
bitterness.  ;  , 

It  was  necessary  for  Captain  Wilde  to  go  again  to  somo 
settlement  down  the  river,  to  get  hinges,  locks,  window-sashes, 
glass,  etc.,  for  the  new  house,  which  was  to  be  ready  for  those 
finishing  touches,  by  the  time  of  his  return.  He  did  not 
know,  when  he  set  out,  whether  he  would  go  as  far  as  Center 
City,  or  stop  at  some  smaller  point  nearer  home. 

One  day,  about  the  time  of  his  expected  return,  Ben  had 
gone  for  Alice,  to  get  her  opinion  about  some  part  of  the 
house.  They  stood  together,  on  the  putside,  consulting  about 
it,  so  interested  in  the  detail  that  they  neither  of  them  noticed 
the  boat  upon  the  river,  until  it  was  moored  to  the  bank,  and 
the  voice  of  the  raftsman  was  heard  calling  to  them. 

Both  turned  at  the  same  moment  and  saw  that  Philip  Moore 
was  in  company  with  Mr.  Wilde.  Ben's  eyes  fixed  themselves 
instantly  upon  Alice's  face,  which  was  first  pale  and  then  red. 
He  saw  the  great  throb  her  heart  gave,  heard  the  sudden 
catch  in  her  breath ;  and  he  was  still  looking  at  her  when 
Philip  sprang  gayly  up  the  path  and  seized  her  hand — the 
man  who  loved  her  better  than  life  saw  all  the  blushes  of 
Womanhood  coming  and  going  upon  her  face  at  the  touch  of 
another's  hand. 

A  threatening  blackness  clouded  -his  brow;  Alice  saw  it, 
and  knew  that  he  read  her  secret  by  the  light  of  his  own  pas 
sion  ;  she  almost  shuddered  at  the  dark  look  which  he  flashed 
,  upon  Philip ;  but  her  father  was  calling  for  assistance  to  un 
load  his  craft,  and  Ben  wont  forward  without  speaking. 

"•What  a  surly  fellow  that  is,  for  one  so  good-looking  and 
young,"  remarked  Philip,  carelessl} ,  looking  after  him. 

"  He  is  not  always  so  surly,"  Alice  felt  constrained  to  say 
in  his  defense  :   "  he's  vexed  now  about  something." 

"  But  that's  an  ill-tempered  look  for  a  youthful  face,  Alice. 

I'm  afraid  he'd  hardly  make  a  woman  very  happy — eh,  Alice  ?" 

"  That's  a  matter  which  does  not  interest  me,  Mr.  Moore,  I 

assure  you,"  answered  the  young  girl,  with   an   unexpected 

flash  of  pride. 


PALLAS    MAKES    A    SPEECH. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    COLD    HOUSE-WARMING.        "f'\  t 

"  IT'S  an  ill- wind  dat  blows  nobody  no  good ;  and  dat  yar 
wind  dat  blowed  de  fire  right  down  on  our  cabin  did  us  some 
good  ater  all.     Masser  'ud  libbed  in  dat  log-house  till  de  day 
he  died,    hadn't  been  for    dat  fire   dat  frighted  me  so,    and 
made  me  pray  fasser  'n   eber  I  prayed  afore.     Lord  !  Miss 
Alice,  it  looked  like  de  judgment- day,  when  we  sailed  clows, 
de  ribber  in  de  light  ob  de  pine-woods.     'Feared  to  me  dfe 
worl'  was  all  on  fire.     I   see   Saturn  a  shakin'  in  his  boota. 
^He  tole  me,  nex'  day,  he  tought  it  was  de  day  of  judgment, 
sure  'nuff.     I  heard  him  askin'  de  good  Lord  please  forgib 
him   fur  all  de 'lasses  he'd  taken  unbeknown.     My!  my!  I 
larfed  myself  to  pieces  when  I  tought  of  it  arterward,  case  I'd 
never  known  where  de  'lasses  went  to  hadn't  been  for  dat 
lire.     Dis  new  house  mighty  nice.     Ben  didn't  forget  ole  nig 
gers  when  he   built  dis — de  kitchen,  and  de  pantry,  and  my 
settin'-room   is    mighty  comfor'able.     Ben's    a   handy  young 
man — smart   as  a  basket  o'  chips.     He's  good  'nuff  for  most 
anybody,  but  he's  not  good  'nuff  for  my  pickaninny,  and  he 
ought  to  hab  sense  'nuff  to  see  it.     Ye'd  best  be  kerful,  Miss 
Alice ;   he's   high-tempered,  and   he'll   make  trouble.     'Sense 
me  for  speakin' ;    I  know  ye've  allers  been  so  discreet  and 
as  modest    as  an    angel.      !N~one  can   blame    you,    let    what 
will  happen.     But  I   wish    dat    Mr.  Moore    would  go   way. 
Yes,  I  do,  Miss  Alice,  for  more  'n  one  reason.     Don't  tink 
ole  Pallas  not  see    tru  a    grin'-stone.     Ef  he  wants  to  leab 
any  peace   o'   mind   behind    him,  he'd   better   clar   out   soon. 
Thar !  thar,  chile,  nebber  mind  ole  nigger.     My  !  how  purty 
you  lias  made  de  table  look.     I'm  much  obleeged  for  yer  as 
sistance,  daiiin'.     I'se  bound  to  hab  a  splendid  supper,  de  fust 
in   de   new   house.     Taint   much  of  a  house-wannin',  seein' 
we'd  nobody  to  invite,  and  no  fiddle,  but  we've  done  what  we 


40  ALICE    WILDE. 

could  to  make  things  pleasant.  Laws  !  ef  dat  nigger  ob  mine 
wasn't  secli  a  fool  lie  could  make  a  fiddle,  and  play  suthin' 
for  us,  times  when  we  was  low-sperited." 

Pallas'  tongue  did  not  go  any  faster  than  her  hands  and  feet. 
It  was  the  first  day  in  the  new  house,  and  Alice  and  herself 
had  planned  to  decorate  the  principal  apartment,  and  have  an 
extra  nice  supper.  Ever  since  her  father  left  for  the  mill,  in 
the  middle  of  the  day,  after  the  furniture  was  moved  in,  while 
Pallas  put  things  "  to  rights,"  she  had  woven  wreaths  of  ever 
greens,  with  scarlet  dogberries  and  brilliant  autumn-leaves 
interspersed,  which  she  had  festooned  about  the  windows  and 
doors ;  and  now  she  was  busy  decorating  the  table,  while  the 
old  colored  woman  passed  in  and  out,  adding  various  well- 
prepared  dishes  to  the  feast. 

Pallas  had  been  a  famous  cook  in  her  day,  and  she  still 
made  the  best  of  the  materials  at  her  command.  A  large 
cake,  nicely  frosted,  and  surrounded  with  a  wreath,  was  one 
of  the  triumphs  of  her  skill.  A  plentiful  supply  of  preserved 
strawberries  and  wild-plum  marmalade,  grape-jelly,  and  black 
berry-jam  adorned  the  board.  A  venison-pie  was  baking  in 
the  oven,  and  a  salmon,  that  would  have  roused  the  envy  of 
Delmonico's,  was  boiling  in  the  pot,  while  she  prepared  a 
sauce  for  it,  for  which,  in  times  gone  by,  she  had  received 
many  a  compliment. 

Philip  had  been  taken  into  the  secre-t  of  the  feast,  as  Alice 
was  obliged  to  depend  upon  him  for  assistance  in  getting  ever 
greens.  He  was  now  out  after  a  fresh  supply,  and  Alice  was 
beginning  to  wish  he  would  make  more  haste,  lest  her  father 
should  return  before  the  preparations  were  complete. 

Again  and  again  she  went  to  the  door  to  look  out  for  him ; 
and  at  last,  six  o'clock  being  come  and  past,  she  said  with  a 
pretty  little  frown  of  vexation  : 

"  There's  father  coining,  and  Mr.  Moore  not  back  !" 

The  feast  waited  until  seven — eight — and  yet  Philip  had 
not  returned. 

Several  of  the  men  who  had  been  busy  about  the  house 
during  the  day  were  invited  into  supper ;  and  at  eight  o'clock 
they  sat  down  to  it,  in  something  of  silence  and  apprehension, 
for  every  one  by  this  time  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
Philip  was  lost  in  the  woods.  Poor  Alice  could  not  force 


LOST    IN    THE    WOODS.  41 

herself  to  eat.  She  tried  to  smile  as  she  waited  upon  her 
guests ;  but  her  face  grew  paler  and  her  eyes  larger  every 
moment.  Not  that  there  was  any  such  great  cause  for  fright ; 
there  were  no  wild  animals  in  that  vicinity,  except  an  occa 
sional  hungry  bear  in  the  spring,  who  had  made  his  way  from 
some  remote  forest ;  but  she  was  a  woman,  timid  and  loving, 
and  her  fears  kept  painting  terrible  pictures  of  death  by 
starvation,  fierce  wolves,  sly  panthers,  and  all  the  horrors  of 
darkness. 

"  Poh  !  poh  I  child,  don't  look  so  scart,"  said  her  father, 
though  he  was  evidently  hurrying  his  meal,  and  quite  uncon 
scious  of  the  perfectioD  of  the  salnion-sauce,  "  there's  no  cause. 
He's  lost ;  but  he  can't  get  so  fur  in  the  wrong  direction  but 
we'll  rouse  him  out  with  our  horns  and  lanterns  and  guns. 
We'll  load  our  rifles  with  powder  and  fire  'em  off.  He  hasn't 
had  time  to  get  fur." 

"  Likely  he'll  make  his  own  way  back  time  we're  through 
supper,"  remarked  one  of  the  men  cheerfully,  as  he  helped 
himself  to  a  second  large  piece  of  venison-pie.  "  'Tain't  no 
use  to  be  in  a  hurry.  These  city  folks  can't  find  thar  way  in 
the  woods  quite  like  us  fellers,  though.  They  ain't  up  to  't." 

Alice  looked  over  at  the  speaker;  and,  albeit  she  was 
usually  so  hospitable,  wished  he  would  make  more  speed  with 
his  eating.  Pallas  waited  upon  the  table  in  profound  silence. 
Something  was  upon  her  mind ;  but  when  Alice  looked  at 
her  anxiously  she  turned  her  eyes  away,  pretending  to  be 
busy  with  her  duties. 

Ben  Perkins  had  been  asked  to  supper,  but  did  not  make 
his  appearance  until  it  was  nearly  over.  When  he  came  in 
he  did  not  look  anybody  straight  in  the  face,  but  sitting  down 
with  a  reckless,  jovial  air,  different  from  his  usual  taciturn 
manner,  began  laughing,  talking,  and  eating,  filling  his  plate 
with  every  thing  he  could  reach. 

"  Have  you  seen  any  thing  of  Mr.  Moore  ?"  was  the  first 
question  put  to  him,  in  the  hope  of  hearing  from  the  absent 
man. 

"Moore?  no, — ain't  he  here?  Thought  of  course  he'd 
be  here  makin'  himself  agreeable  to  the  women ;"  and  he 
laughed. 

Whether  Alice's  excited  state  exalted  -all 'her  pcrceptidns, 


42  ALICE    WILDE. 

or  whether  her  ears  were  more  finely  strung  than  those  around 
her,  this  laugh,  short,  dry,  and  forced,  chilled  her  blood.  He 
did  not  look  toward  her  as  he  spoke,  but  her  gaze  was  fixed 
upon  him  with  a  kind  of  fascination ;  she  could  not  turn  it 
away,  but  sat  staring  at  him,  as  if  in  a  dream.  Only  once  did 
he  lift  his  eyes  while  he  sat  at  the  table,  and  then  it  was  to 
ward  her ;  they  slowly  lifted  as  if  her  own  fixed  gaze  drew 
them  up ;  she  saw  them  clearly  for  an  instant,  and— such 
eyes  !  His  soul  was  in  them,  although  he  knew  it  not — a 
fallen  soul — and  the  covert  look  of  it  through  those  lurid  eyes 
was  dreadful. 

A  strange  tremulousness  how  seized  upon  Alice.  She  hur 
ried  her  father  and  his  men  in  their  preparations,  brought  the 
lanterns,  the  rifles,  the  powder-horns ;  her  hands  shaking  all 
the  time.  They  laughed  at  her  for  a  foolish  child  ;  and  she 
said  nothing,  only  to  hurry  them.  Ben  was  among  the  most 
eager  for  the  search.  He  headed  a  party  which  he  proposed 
should  strike  directly  back  into  the  wood ;  but  two  or  three 
thought  best  to  go  in  another  direction,  so  as  to  cover  the 
whole  ground.  When  they  had  all  disappeared  in  the  wood, 
their  lights  flashing  here  and  there  through  openings  and  their 
shouts  ringing  through  the  darkness,  Alice  said  to  Pallas : 

"  Let  us  go  too.  There  is  another  lantern.  You  won't  be 
afraid,  will  you  ?" 

"  I'll  go,  to  please  you,  chile,  for  I  see  yer  mighty  restless. 
I  don't  like  trabelling  in  cle  woods  at  night,  but  dc  Lord's 
ober  all,  and  I'll  pray  fas'  and  loud  if  I  get  skeered." 

A  phantom  floated  in  the  darkness  before  the  eyes  of  Alice 
all  through  that  night  spent  in  wandering  through  forest 
depths,  but  it  was  shapeless,  and  she  would  not,  dared  not 
give  shape  to  it.  All  night  guns  were  fired,  and  the  faithful 
men  pursued  their  search  ;  and  at  daybreak  they  returned, 
now  really  alarmed,  to  refresh  their  exhausted  powers  with 
strong  coffee  and  a  hastily-prepared  breakfast,  before  renewing 
their  exertions. 

The  search  became  now  of  a  different  character.  Con 
vinced  that  the  missing  man  could  not  have  got  beyond  the 
hearing  of  the  clamor  they  had  made  through  the  night,  they 
now  anticipated  some  accident,  and  looked  closely  into  every 
shadow  and  under  every  clump  of  fallen  trees,  behind  logs,  and 
into  hollows. 


ATTEMPTED    MURDER.  43 

Drinking  the  coffee  which  Pallas  forced  upon  her,  Alice 
again  set  forth,  not  with  the  others,  but  alone,  walking  like 
one  distracted,  darting  wild  glances  hither  and  thither,  and 
calling  in  an  impassioned  voice  that  wuilsd  through  the  wil 
derness,  seeming  to  penetrate  every  breath  of  air, — "  Philip  ! 
Philip  !" 

And  now  she  saw  where  he  had  broken  off  evergreens  the 
day  before,  and  fluttering  round  and  round  the  spot,  like  a 
bird  crying  after  its  robbed  nest,  she  sobbed, — "  Philip  ! 
Philip  !" 

And  then  she  saw  him,  sitting  on  a  log,  pale  and  haggard- 
looking,  his  white  face  stained  with  blood  and  his  hair  mottled 
with  it,  a  frightful  gash  across  his  temple  and  head,  which  he 
drooped  upon  his  hand ;  and  he  tried  to  answer  her.  Before 
she  could  reach  him  he  sank  to  the  ground. 

"  He  is  dead  !"  she  cried,  flying  forward,  sinking  beside 
him,  and  lifting  his  head  to  her  knee.  "  Father  !  father  ! 
come  to  us  !" 

They  heard  her  sharp  cry,  and,  hastening  to  the  spot,  found 
her,  pale  as  the  body  at  her  feet,  gazing  down  into  the  deathly 
face. 

"  Alice,  don't  look  so,  child.  He's  not  dead — he's  only 
fainted.  Here,  men,  lift  him  up  speedily,  for  he's  nigh  about 
gone.  Thar's  been  mischief  here — no  mistake  !" 

Captain  Wilde  breathed  hard  as  he  glared  about  upon  his 
men.  The  thought  had  occurred  to  him  that  some  one  had 
attempted  to  murder  the  young  man  for  his  valuable  watch 
and  chain  and  the  well-filled  purse  he  was  supposed  to  carry. 
But  no — the  watch  and  money  were  undisturbed  ; — may  be  he 
had  fallen  and  cut  his  head — if  he  should  revive,  they  would 
know  all. 

They  bore  him  to  the  house  and  laid  him  upon  Alice's 
white  bed  in  the  pretty  room  just  arranged  for  her  comfort ; 
it  was  the  quietest,  pleasantest  place  in  the  house,  and  she 
would  have  him  there.  After  the  administration  of  a  power 
ful  dose  of  brandy,  the  faint  pulse  of  the  wounded  man  flut 
tered  up  a  little  stronger ;  more  was  given  him,  the  blood 
was  wiped  away,  and  cool,  wet  napkins  kept  around  his 
head  ;  and  by  noon  of  the  same  day,  he  was  able  to  give 
some  account  of  himself. 


44 


ALICE    WILDE. 


He  was  sitting  in  the  very  spot  where  they  had  found  him, 
on  the  previous  afternoon,  with  a  heap  of  evergreens  gathered 
about  him,  preoccupied  in  making  garlands,  so  that  he  saw 
nothing,  heard  nothing,  until  something — it  seemed  to  him  a 
club  wielded  by  some  assailant  who  had  crept  up  behind  him 
— struck  him  a  blow  which  instantly  deprived  him  of  his 
senses.  How  long  he  lay,  bleeding  and  stunned,  he  could 
only  guess ;  it  seemed  to  be  deep  night  when  he  recalled  what 
had  happened,  and  found  himself  lying  on  the  ground,  con 
fused  by  the  pain  in  his  head  and  faint  from  loss  of  blood. 
He  managed  to  crawl  upon  the  log,  so  as  to  lean  his  head 
upon  his  arms,  and  had  been  there  many  hours.  He  heard 
the  shouts  and  saw  the  lights  which  came  near  him  two  or 
three  times,  but  he  could  not  make  noise  enough  to  attract  at 
tention.  When  he  heard  Alice's  voice,  lie  had  lifted  himself 
into  a  sitting  posture,  but  the  effort  was  too  great,  and  he 
sank  again,  exhausted,  at  the  moment  relief  reached  him. 

His  hearers  looked  in  each  other's  faces  as  they  heard  his 
story.  Who  could  have  done  that  murderous  deed  ?  What 
was  the  object  ?  the  pleasant  young  stranger  had  no  enemies, 
— he  had  not  been  robbed  ;  there  were  no  Indians  known  to 
be  about,  and  Indians  would  have  finished  their  work  with 
the  scalping-knife. 

Alas  !  the  terrible  secret  preyed  at  the  heart  of  Alice  Wilde. 
She  knew,  though  no  mortal  lips  had  revealed  it,  who  was 
the  would-be  murderer.  A  pair  of  eyes  had  unconsciously 
betrayed  it.  She  had  read  "  murder"  there,  and  the  wherefore 
was  now  evident. 

Yet  she  had  no  proof  of  that  of  which  she  was  so  conscious. 
Should  she  denounce  the  guilty  man,  people  would  ask  for  evi 
dence  of  his  crime.  What  would  she  have  to  offer  ?— that  the 
criminal  loved  her,  and  she  loved  the  victim.  No  !  she  would 
keep  the  gnawing  truth  in  her  own  bosom,  only  whispering  a 
warning  to  the  sufferer  should  he  ever  be  well  enough  to  need 
it ;  a  matter  by  no  means  settl&d,  as  David  Wilde  was  doctor 
enough  to  know. 

Despite  of  all  the  preventives  within  reach,  a  fever  set  in 
that  night,  and  for  two  or  three  days,  Philip  was  very  ill,  a 
part  of  the  time  delirious ;  there  was  much  more  probability 
of  his  dying  than  recovering.  Both  Mr.  Wilde  and  Pallas 


FEVER — DELIRIUM.  45 

had  that  skill  picked  up  by  tke  necessity  of  being  doctors  to 
all  accidents  and  diseases  around  them ;  and  they  exerted 
themselves  to  the  utmost  for  their  unfortunate  young  guest. 

Then  it  was  that  Mr.  Wilde  found  where  the  heart  of  his 
little  girl  had  gone  astray ;  and  cursed  himself  for  his  folly  in 
exposing  her  to  a  danger  so  probable.  Yet,  as  he  looked  at 
her  sweet  face,  worn  with  watching  and  trouble,  he  could  not 
but  believe  that  the  hand  of  the  proudest  aristocrat  on  earth 
was  none  too  good  for  her,  and  that  Philip  would  recognize 
her  beauty  and  worth.  If  she  must  love,  and  be  married,  he 
would  more  willingly  resign  her  to  Philip  Moore  than  to  any 
other  man.  Alice  lacked  experience  as  a  muse,  but  she  fol 
lowed  every  motion  of  the  good  old  colored  woman,  and 
stood  ready  to  interfere  where  she  could  be  of  any  use. 

Sitting  hour  after  hour  by  Philip's  bedside,  changing  the 
wet  cloths  constantly  to  keep  them  cool,  she  heard  words 
from  his  delirious  lips  which  added  still  more  to  her  despair — 
fond,  passionate  words,  addressed  not  to  her,  but  to  some  be 
loved  woman,  some  beautiful  "  Virginia,"  now  far  away,  un 
conscious  of  her  lover's  danger,  while  to  her  "fell  the  sad  pleas 
ure  of  attending  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  that  he  may  live,  and  not  die  by  the  hand  of  an  as 
sassin,  so  innocent  a  victim  to  a  needless  jealousy.  Oh,  that 
he  may  live  to  save  this  Virginia,  whoever  she  may  be,  from 
the  fate  of  a  hopeless  mourner.  It  will  be  joy  enough  for 
me  to  save  his  life,"  she  cried  to  herself. 

The  crisis  passed ;  the  flush  of  fever  was  succeeded  by  the 
languor  and  pallor  of  extreme  prostration;  but  the  young 
man's  constitution  was  excellent,  and  he  recovered  rapidly. 
Then  how  it  pleased  Pallas  to  cook  him  tempting  dishes  ; 
and  how  it  pleased  Alice  to  see  the  appetite  with  which  he 
disposed  of  them.  Women  love  to  serve  those  who  are  dear 
to  them ;  no  service  can  be  so  homely  or  so  small  that  their 
enthusiasm  does  not  exalt  it. 

Yet  the  stronger  Philip  grew,  the  more  heavily  pressed  a 
cold  horror  upon  the  soul  of  Alice.  Ben  Perkins  had  not 
been  to  the  house  since  the  wounded  man  was  brought  into 
it ;  and  when  Alice  would  have  asked  her  father  of  his  where 
abouts,  her  lips  refused  to  form  his  name.  She  hoped  that 
he  had  fled ;  but  then  she  knew  that  if  he  had  disappeared,  her 


46  ALICE    WILDE. 

father  would  have  mentioned  it,  and  that  the  act  would  have 
fixed  suspicion  upon  him.  She  felt  that  he  was  hovering 
about,  that  lie  often  beheld  her,  when  she  was  unaware  of  the 
secret  gaze ;  she  could  not  endure  to  step  to  the  door  after 
dark,  and  she  closed  the  curtains  of  the  windows  with  ex- 
tremest  care,  especially  in  Philip's  room.  !  . 

The  first  light  snow  of  November  had  fallen  when  the  in 
valid  was  able  to  sit  up  all  day  ;  but,  although  he  knew  that 
his  long  absence  would  excite  consternation  among  his  friends 
at  Center  City,  and  that  business  at,  home  required  his  atten 
tion,  he  found  each  day  of  his  convalescence  so  pleasant,  that 
lie  li  id  not  strength  of  will  sufficient  to  break  the  charm. 
To  read  to  his  young  friend  while  she  sewed  ;  to  watch  her 
flitting  about  the  room  while  he  reclined  upon  a  lounge  ;  to 
talk  with  her ;  to  study  her  changing  countenance,  grew  every 
day  more  sweet  to  him.  At  first  he  thought  it  was  gratitude 
— she  had  been  so  kind  to  him.  But  a  thrilling  warmth  al 
ways  gathered  about  his  heart  when  he  remembered  that  pas 
sionate  voice,  crying  through  the  pine- woods  with  such  a 
sobbing  sound — "  Philip  !  Philip  !" 

Finding  himself  thus  disposed  to  linger,  he  was  the  more 
chagrined  to  perceive  that  Alice  was  anxious  to  have  him  go; 
she  gave  him  no  invitation  to  prolong  his  visit,  and  said  un 
equivocally,  that  if  he  did  not  wish  to  be  ice-bound  for  the 
winter,  he  would  have  to  depart  as  soon  as  his  strength  would 
permit.  Her  father  had  promised  him,  when  he  came  up,  to 
take  him  down  the  river  again  when  he  was  ready,  as  he 
should  be  obliged  to  go  down  again  for  his  winter  stores ;  and 
he  now  waited  his  visitor's  movements. 

No  words  had  passed  between  Alice  and  Pallas  on  the  sub 
ject  of  the  attempted  murder,  yet  the  former  half  knew  that 
the  truth  was  guessed  by  the  faithful  servant  who  also  hast 
ened  the  departure  of  their  guest. 

"  I  declare,  Aunt  Pallas,  I  believe  I  have  worn  out  my  wel 
come.  I've  been  a  troublesome  fellow,  I  know  ;  but  it  hurts 
my  vanity  to  see  you  getting  so  tired  of  me,"  he  said,  laugh 
ingly,  one  day,  when  they  were  alone  together,  he  sitting  on 
the  kitchen-steps  after  the  lazy  manner  of  convalescents,  try 
ing  to  get  warmth,  both  from  the  fire  within  and  the  sun. 
without. 


QUESTIONING    THE  NIGGER.  47 

"  Ole  folks  never  gets  tired  of  young,  bright  faces,  masser 
Philip.  Bat  ole  folks  knows  sometimes  what's  fer  de  best, 
more  'n  young  ones." 

u  Then  yon  think  Miss  Alice  wants  to  get  rid  of  me,  and 
you  second  your  darling's  wishes — eh,  Pallas?"  and  he  looked 
at  her,  hoping  she  would  contradict  him. 

"  I'd  do  a'  mos'  any  thing  for  my  pickaninny — I  lub  her 
better  den  life ;  an'  clar'  never  was  anudder  such  a  chile,  so 
pretty  and  so  good,  as  /  know  as  has  been  wid  her  sence  she 
drew  her  firs'  bref.  If  I  tought  she  wanted  you  to  go,  I'd 
want  you  to  go,  too,  masser,  not  meanin'  any  disrespeck — and 
she  do  want  yon  to  go ;  but  she's  got  reasons  for  it ;"  and  she 
shook  her  yellow  turban  reflectively. 

"Do  you  think  she  is  getting  to  dislike  me?" 

"  Dat's  her  own  bisness,  ef  she  is ;  but  dat  ain't  de  main 
reason.  She  don't  like  de  look  of  that  red  scar  down  your 
forricl.  She  knows  who  made  dat  ugly  scar,  and  what  fer 
they  did  it.  She  tinks  clis  a  dangerous  country  for  you,  Masser 
Moore,  and  Pallas  tink  so  too.  Go  way,  masser,  quick  as  you 
can,  and  nebber  come  back  any  more." 

"  But  I  sJiall  come  back,  Aunt  Pallas,  next  spring,  to  bring 
you  something  nice  for  all  you've  done  for  me,  and  because — 
because — I  shan't  be  able  to  stay  away,"  he  answered,  though 
somewhat  startled  and  puzzled  by  her  revelation. 

"Why  not  be  able  to  stay  'way?"  queried  she,  with  a  sharp 
glance. 

"  Oh,  you  can  guess,  Aunt  Pallas.     I  shan't  tell  you." 

"  People  isn't  allers  satisfied  with  guessing — like  to  have 
things  plain,  and  no  mistake  'bout  'em,"  observed  Pallas. 

"  Just  so.  /  am  not  satisfied  with  guessing  who  tried  to 
kill  me,  and  what  their  object  was.  I  am  going  to  ask  Alice, 
this  evening.  She's  evidently  frightened  about  me ;  she  won't 
let  me  stir  a  step  alone.  So  you  think  .your  pickaninny  is  the 
best  and  the  prettiest  child  alive,  do  you  ?" 

"  Dat  I  do." 

"  So  do  I.  What  do  you  suppose  she  thinks  of  such  a 
worthless  kind  «f  a  person  as  myself?  Do,  now,  tell  me, 
won't  you,  auntie  ?" 

"  You  clar  out,  young  masser,  and  don't  bozzer  me.  I'se  busy 
wid  dis  ironin'.  You'd  better  ask  her,  if  yer  want  to  find  out." 


48  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  But  can't  you  say  something  to  encourage  me  ?" 

"  You  go  'long.  Better  tease  somebody  hain't  got  no  ironin' 
on  hand." 

u  You'll  repent  of  your  unkindness  soon,  Aunt  Pallas ;  for, 
be  it  known  to  you,  to-morrow  is  set  for  my  departure,  and 
when  I'm  gone  it  will  be  too  late  to  send  your  answer  after 
me ;"  and  the  young  man  rose,  with  a  very  becoming  air  of 
injured  feeling  which  delighted  her  much. 

"  Hi !  hi !  ef  it  could  only  be,"  she  sighed,  looking  after 
him.  "  Bnt  we  can't  smoof  tings  out  in  dis  yere  worl'  quite 
so  easy  as  I  smoof  out  dis  table-cloth.  He's  one  ob  de  family, 
no  mistake ;  and  masser's  found  it  out,  too,  'fore  dis." 

That  night  the  family  sat  up  late,  Pallas  busy  in  the  kitchen 
putting  up  her  master's  changes  of  linen  and  cooked  provisions 
for  the  next  day's  journey,  and  the  master  himself  busied 
about  many  small  affairs  demanding  attention. 

The  two  young  people  sat  before  a  blazing  wood-fire  in  the 
front  room ;  the  settle  had  been  drawn  up  to  it  for  Philip's 
convenience,  and  his  companion  at  his  request  had  taken  a 
seat  by  his  side.  The  curtains  were  closely  drawn,  yet  Alice 
would  frequently  look  around  in  a  timid,  wild  way,  which  he 
could  not;  but  notice. 

"You  did  not  use  to  be  so  timid." 

"  I  have  more  reason  now  ;"  and  she  shuddered.  "  Until 
you  were  hurt,  Mr.  Moore,  I  did  not  think  how  near  we  might 
be  to  murderers,  even  in  our  house." 

"  You  should  not  allow  it  to  make  such  an  impression  on 
your  mind.  It  is  passed ;  and  such  things  scarcely  happen 
twice  in  one  person's  experience." 

"  I  do  not  fear  for  myself — it  is  for  yon,  Mr.  Moore." 

"  Philip,  you  called  me,  that  night  in  the  woods.  Supposing 
I  was  in  danger,  little  Alice,  what  would  you  risk  for  me  ?" 

She  did  not  answer. 

"Well,  what  would  you  risk  for  some  one  you  loved — say, 
your  father  ?" 

"  All  things— my  life," 

"  There  are  some  people  who  would  rather  risk  their  life 
than  their  pride,  their  family  name,  or  their  money.  Sup 
posing  a  man  loved  a  woman  very  much,  and  she  professed  to 
return  Ms  love,  but  was  not  willing  to  share  his  meager  for- 


CONFESSIONS,  49 

tunes  with  him ;  coulcl  not  sacrifice  splendor  and  the  passion 
for  admiration,  for  his  sake — what  would  you  think  of  her  ?" 

"  That  she  did  not  love  him." 

"  But  you  do  not  know,  little  AlFce ;  you  have  never  been 
tempted ;  and  you  know  nothing  of  the  strength  of  fashion  in 
the  world,  of  the  influence  of  public  opinion,  of  the  pride  of 
appearances." 

"  I  have  guessed  it,"  she  answered,  sadly. 

He  thought  there  was  a  shadow  of  reproach  in  those  pure 
eyes,  as  if  she  would  have  added,  that  she  had  been  made  to 
feel  it,  too. 

"I  loved  a  woman  once,"  he  continued;  "loved  her  so 
rashly  that  I  would  have  let  her  set  her  perfect  foot  upon  my 
neck  and  press  my  life  out.  She  knew  how  I  adored  her,  and 
she  told  me  she  returned  my  passion.  But  she  would  not 
resign  any  of  her  rank  and  influence  for  my  sake." 

"  Was  her  name  Virginia  ?" 

"  It  was ;  how  did  you  know  ?" 

"  You  talked  of  her  when  you  were  ill." 

"  I'll  warrant.  But  slie  wouldn't  have  sat  up  one  night  by 
my  bedside,  for  fear  her  eyes  would  be  less  brilliant  for  the 
next  evening's  ball.  She  drove  me  off  to  the  West  to  make  a 
fortune  for  her  to  spend,  in  case  she  did  not  get  hold  of  some 
body  else's  by  that  time.  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  make  it 
for  her  ?" 

There  was  no  answer.  His  companion's  head  was  droop 
ing.  He  lifted  one  of  her  hands,  as  he  went  on : 

"I  was  so  dazzled  by  her  magnificence  that,  for  a  long 
time,  I  could  see  nothing  in  its  true  light.  But  my  vision  is 
clear  now.  Virginia  shall  never  have  my  fortune  to  spend, 
nor  me  to  twist  around  her  jeweled  finger." 

The  hand  he  held  began  to  tremble. 

"  Now,  little  Alice,  supposing  I  had  told  you  of  such  love, 
and  you  had  professed  to  answer  it,  what  sacrifices  would  you 
have  made?  Would  you  have  given  me  that  little  gold 
heart  you  wear  about  your  neck — your  only  bit  of  ornamen 
tation  ?" 

"  I  would  have  made  a  sacrifice,  full  as  great  in  its  way,  as 
the  decline  in  pomp  and  position  might  have  been  to  the 
proud  lady,"  she  replied,  lifting  her  eyes  calmly  to  his  face. 


50  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  I  would  have  refused  the  offered  happiness  if,  by  accepting 
it,  I  thought  I  should  ever,  by  my  ignorance  of  proprieties, 
give  him  cause  to  blush  for  me— if  I  thought  my  uncultivated 
tastes  would  some  time  disappoint  him,  that  he  would  grow 
weary  of  me  as  a  friend  and  companion  because  I  was  not 
truly  fitted  for  that  place— if  I  thought  I  was  not  worthy  of 
him,  I  would  sacrifice  myself,  and  try  to  wish  only  for  his  best 
happiness." 

Her  eyes  sank,  as  she  ceased  speaking,  and  the  tears  whicli 
would  come  into  them,  gushed  over  her  cheeks. 

"  Worthy !  you  are  more  than  worthy  of  the  best  man  in 
the  world,  Alice  !  far  more  than  worthy  of  me  /"  cried  Philip, 
in  a  rapture  he  could  not  restrain.  "  O  Alice,  if  you  only 
loved  me  in  that  fashion  !" 

"  You  know  that  I  do,"  she  replied,  with  that  archness  so 
native  to  her,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"Then  say  no  more.  There— don't  speak — don't  speak!" 
and  he  shut  her  mouth  with  the  first  kiss  of  a  lover. 

For  a  while  their  hearts  beat  too  high  with  happiness  to 
recall  any  of  the  difficulties  of  their  new  relation. 

"  We  shall  have  small  time  to  lay  plans  for  the  future,  now. 
But  I  shall  fly  to  you  on  the  first  breezes  of  spring,  Alice. 
Your  father  shall  know  all,  on  our  way  down  the  river.  Oh, 
if  there  was  only  a  mail  through  this  forlorn  region.  I  could 
write  to  you,  at  least." 

"  I  shall  have  so  much  to  do,  the  winter  will  speedily  pass ; 
I  must  study  the  books  you  brought  me.  But  I  shall  not 
allow  myself  to  hope  too  much,"  she  added,  with  a  sudden 
melancholy,  such  as  sometimes  is  born  of  prophetic  instinct. 

"  /  can  not  hope  too  highly  1"  said  Philip,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Here  comes  your  father.  Dear  Alice,  your  cheeks  are  so 
rosy,  I  be^eve  he  will  read  our  secret  to-night." 


A    NEW    TROUBLE.  51 


CHAPTER     VII. 

SUSPENSE. 

WHAT  was  the  consternation  of  Alice  when  her  father  re 
turned  the  evening  of  the  clay  of  his  departure  and  told  her 
he  had  concluded  he  could  not  be  spared  for  the  trip,  and  so, 
when  they  reached  the  mill,  he  had  chosen  Ben  to  fill  his 
place  !  Every  vestige  of  color  fled  from  her  face. 

"  O  father  !  how  could  you  trust  him  with  Philip  ?"  burst 
forth  involuntarily. 

"  Trust  Ben  ?  Why,  child,  thar  ain't  a  handier  sailor  round 
the  place.  And  if  he  wan't,  I  guess  Moore  could  take  care 
of  himself — he'll  manage  a  craft  equal  to  an  old  salt." 

"  Can't  you  go  after  them,  father  ?  oh,  do  go,  now,  this 
night — this  hoar !" 

"  Why,  child,  you're  crazy  !"  replied  the  raftsman,  looking 
at  her  in  surprise.  "  I  never  saw  you  so  foolish  before.  Go 
after  a  couple  of  young  chaps  full-grown  and  able  to  take  care 
of  themselves  ?  They've  the  only  sail-boat  there  is,  besides — • 
and  I  don't  think  I  shall  break  my  old  arms  rowing  after  'ein 
when  they've  got  a  good  day's  start,"  and  he  laughed  good- 
naturedly.  "  Go  along,  little  one,  I'm  'fraid  your  love-cracked." 

Got  the  only  sail-boat  there  was  1  There  would  be  no  use, 
then,  in  making  her  father  the  confidant  of  her  suspicions.  It 
seemed  as  if  fate  had  fashioned  this  mischance.  -Several  of 
the  men  had  got  into  a  quarrel,  at  the  mill,  that  morning; 
some  of  the  machinery  had  broken,  and  so  much  business 
pressed  upon  the  owner,  that  he  had  been  obliged  to  relinquish 
his  journey.  He  had  selected  Ben  as  his  substitute  because 
he  was  his  favorite  among  all  his  employees ;  trusty,  quick, 
honest,  would  make  a  good  selection  of  winter  stores,  and 
render  a  fair  account  of  the  money  spent.  Such  had  been 
the  young  man's  character;  and  the  little  public  of  Wilde's 
mill  did  not  know  that  a  stain  had  come  upon  it — that  the 


52  ALICE   WILDE. 

mark  of  Cain  was  secretly  branded  upon  the  swarthy  brow 
which  once  could  have  flashed  back  honest  mirth  upon  them. 

They  say  "the  devil  is  not  so  black  as  he  is  painted;" 
and  surely  Ben  Perkins  was  not  so  utterly  depraved  as  might 
be  thought.  He  was  a  heathen ;  one  of  those  white  heathen, 
found  plentifully  in  this  Christian  country,  not  only  in  the 
back  streets  of  cities,  but  in  the  back  depths  of  sparsely-settled 
countries. 

He  had  grown  up  without  the  knowledge  of  religion,  as  it 
is  taught,  except  an  occasional  half-understood  sensation  ser 
mon  from  some  travelling  missionary — he  had  never  been  made 
to  comprehend  the  beauty  of  the  precepts  of  Christ— and  ho 
had  no  education  which  would  teach  him  self-control  and  the 
noble  principle  of  self-government.  Unschooled,  with  a  high 
temper  and  fiery  passions,  generous  and  kindly,  with  a  pride 
of  character  which  would  have  been  fine  had  it  been  enlight 
ened,  but  which  degenerated  to  envy  and  jealousy  of  his 
superiors  in  this  ignorant  boy-nature — the  good  and  the  bad 
grew  rankly  together.  From  the  day  upon  which  he  "  hired 
out,"  a  youth  of  eighteen,  to  Captain  Wilde,  and  saw  Alice 
"Wilde,  a  child  of  twelve,  looking  shyly  up  at  him  through  her 
golden  curls,  he  had  loved  her.  He  had  worked  late  and 
early,  striven  to  please  his  employer,  shown  himself  hardy, 
courageous,  and  trustworthy — had  done  extra  jobs  that  he 
might  accumulate  a  little  sum  to  invest  in  property — all  in  the 
hope  of  some  time  daring  to  ask  her  to  marry  him.  Her 
superior  refinement,  her  innate  delicacy,  her  sweet  beauty  were 
felt  by  him  only  to  make  him  love  her  the  more  desperately. 
As  the  sun  fills  the  ether  with  warmth  and  light,  so  she  filled 
his  soul.  It  was  not  strange  that  he  was  infuriated  by  the  sight 
of  another  man  stepping  in  and  winning  so  easily  what  he  had 
striven  for  so  long — he  saw  inevitably  that  Alice  would  love 
Philip  Moore— this  perfumed  and  elegant  stranger,  with  his 
fine  language,  his  fine  clothes,  and  his  fine  manners.  He 
conceived  a  deadly  hate  for  him.  All  that  was  wicked  in  him 
grew,  choking  down  every  thing  good.  He  allowed  himself  to 
brood  over  his  wrongs,  as  he  regarded  them ;  growing  sullen, 
imprudent,  revengeful.  Then  the  opportunity  came,  and  he 
fell  beneath  the  temptation. 

Chance  had  saved  him  from  the  consummation  of  the  deed, 


THE    NIGHTMARE.  53 

though  not  from  the  guilt  of  the  intent.  He  had  thought  him 
self,  for  half  a  day,  to  be  a  murderer,— and  during  those  hours 
the  rash  boy  had  changed  into  the  desperate  man.  Whether 
he  had  suffered  so  awfully  in  conscience  that  he  was  glad  to 
hear  of  the  escape  of  his  intended  victim,  or  whether  he  swore 
still  to  consummate  his  wish,  his  own  soul  only  knew. 

Everybody  at  Wilde's  mill  had  remarked  the  change  in 
him,  from  a  gay  youth  full  of  jests  and  nonsense  to  a  quiet, 
morose  man,  working  more  diligently  than  ever,  but  sullenly 
rejecting  all  advances  of  sport  or  confidence. 

If  he  was  secretly  struggling  for  the  mastery  over  evil,  it 
was  a  curious  fatality  which  threw  him  again  upon  a  tempta 
tion  so  overwhelming  in  its  ease  and  security  of  accomplish 
ment. 

Ah,  well  did  the  unhappy  Alice  realize  how  easily  now  he 
could  follow  his  intent — how  fully  in  his  power  was  that  un 
suspicious  man  who  had  already  suffered  so  much  from  his 
hands.  Appetite  and  sleep  forsook  her;  if  she  slept  it  was 
but  to  dream  of  a  boat  gliding  down  a  river,  of  a  strong  man 
raising  a  weak  one  in  his  grasp  and  hurling  him,  wounded 
and  helpless,  into  the  waters,  where  he  would  sink,  sink,  till 
the  waves  bubbled  over  his  floating  hair,  and  all  was  gone. 
Many  a  night  she  started  from  her  sleep  with  terrified  shrieks, 
which  alarmed  her  father. 

"  'Tain't  right  for  a  young  girl  to  be  having  the  nightmare 
so,  Pallas.  Suthin'  or  another  is  wrong  about  her — hain't  no 
nerves  lately.  I  do  hope  she  ain't  goin'  to  be  one  of  the 
screechin',  faintin'  kind  of  women  folks.  I  detest  sech.  Her 
health  can't  be  good.  Do  try  and  find  out  what's  the  matter 
with  her ;  she'll  tell  you  quicker  'an  she  will  me.  Fix  her 
up  some  kind  of  tea." 

"De  chile  ain't  well,  masser;.  dat's  berry  plain.  She's 
getting  thin  every  day,  and  she  don't  eat  'miff  to  keep  a  bird 
alive.  But  it's  her  mind,  masser — 'pend  on  it,  it's  her  mind, 
Dese  young  gentleum  make  mischief.  Wish  I  had  masser 
Moore  under  my  thumb — I'd  give  him  a  scoldin'  would  las' 
him  all  his  life." 

"Cuss  Philip  Moore,  and  all  others  of  his  class,"  muttered 
the  raftsman,  moodily. 

Both  Mr.  Wilde  and  Pallas  began  to  lose  their  high  opinion 


54  ALICE    WILDE. 

of  the  young  man,  as  they  witnessed  the  silent  suffering  of 
their  darling.  His  going  down  the  river  without  his  expected 
company  had  cheated  Philip  out  of  the  revelation  he  had 
desired  to  make ;  and  Alice,  with  that  excessive  delicacy  of 
some  timid  young  girls,  had  not  even  confided  her  secret  to 
her  good  old  nurse. 

Much  better  it  would  have  been  for  her  peace  of  mind,  had 
she  told  all  to  her  friends— her  love  and  her  fears  Then,  if 
they  had  seen  good  reason  for  her  apprehensions,  they  might 
have  chased  the  matter  down,  at  whatever  trouble,  and  put 
her  out  of  suspense.  But  she  did  not  do  it.  She  shut  the 
growing  terror  in  her  heart  where  it  fed  upon  her  life  day  by 
day. 

There  was  no  regular  communication  between  Wilde's  mill 
and  the  lower  country,  and  in  the  winter  what  little  there  had 
been  was  cut  off.  The  lovely,  lingering  Indian -summer  days, 
in  the  midst  of  which  the  two  voyagers  had  set  out,  were  over, 
and  ice  closed  the  river  the  very  day  after  the  return  of  Ben. 

A  sudden  agony  of  hope  and  fear  convulsed  the  heart  of 
Alice,  when  her  father  entered  the  house  one  day,  and 
announced  Ben's  arrival. 

"  Did  he  not  bring  me  a  letter  ?  was  there  no  letter  for  you, 
father  ?" 

It  would  be  so  natural  that  he  should  write,  at  least  to  hei 
father,  some  message  of  good  wishes  and  announcement  of  his 
safe  journey — if  she  could  see  his  own  handwriting,  she  would 
be  satisfied  that  all  was  well. 

u  Thar'  was  none  for  me.  If  Ben  got  a  letter  for  you,  I 
s'pose  he'll  tell  you  so,  as  he's  coming  in  with  some  things." 

"  Have  you  any  tiling  for  me — any  message  or  letter  ?" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had -met  Ben,  face  to  face,  since 
that  never-to-be-forgotten  night  of  the  house-warming;  but 
now  he  looked  her  in  the  eyes,  without  any  shrinking,  and  it 
appeared  to  her  as  if  the  shadow  which  had  lain  upon  him 
was  lifted.  He  certainly  looked  more  cheerful  than  he  had 
done  since  the  day  of  Philip's  unexpected  arrival  at  the  new 
house.  Was  it  because  he  felt  that  an  enemy  was  out  of  the 
way  ?  Alice  could  not  tell ;  she  waited  for  him  to  speak,  as 
the  prisoner  waits  for  the  verdict  of  a  jury. 

"  Thar'  ain't  any  letter,  Miss  Alice,"  he  replied,  "  but  thar's 


A    LOVER'S    PRESENTS.  55 

a  package— some  presents  for  you,  and  some  for  Pallas,  too, 
from  Mr.  Moore.  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  was  safe  and 
sound,  and  hoped  you'd  accept  the  things  he  sent." 

His  eyes  did  not  quail  as  he  made  this  statement,  though  he 
knew  that  she  was  searching  them  keenly.  Perhaps  there 
was  a  letter  in  the  bundle.  She  carried  it  to  her  own  room 
and  tore  it  open.  No  !  not  a  single  written  word.  The  gifts 
for  the  old  servant — silk  aprons,  gay-colored  turbans,  and  a 
string  of  gold  beads — were  in  one  bundle.  In  another  was  a 
lady's  dressing-case,  with  brushes,  perfumeries,  and  all  those 
pretty  trifles  which  grace  the  feminine  toilet,  a  quantity  of 
fine  writing  materials,  paper-folder,  gold-pen,  some  exquisite 
small  engravings,  and,  in  a  tiny  box,  a  ring  set  with  a  single 
pure  pearl.  That  ring !  was  it  indeed  a  betrothal  ring,  sent 
to  her  by  her  lover,  which  she  should  wear  to  kiss  and  pray 
over?  or  was  it  intended  to  help  her  into  a  bond  with  his 
murderer  ?  Eagerly  she  scanned  every  bit  of  wrapping-paper 
to  find  some  proof  that  it  was  Philip's  own  hand  which  had 
made  up  the  costly  and  tasteful  gifts.  She  could  find  nothing 
to  satisfy  her.  They  might  have  been  purchased  with  his 
money,  but  not  by  him.  The  ring  which  she  would  have  worn 
so  joyfully  had  she  been  certain  it  had  come  from  him,  she 
put  back  in  its  case  without  even  trying  it  on  her  finger. 

"  O  God  !"  she  murmured,  throwing  herself  upon  her  knees, 
"  must  I  bear  this  suspense  all  this  endless  winter  ?" 

Yes,  all  that  endless  winter  the  weight  of  suspense  was  not 
to  be  lifted — nor  for  yet  more  miserable  months. 

December  sat  in  extremely  cold,  and  the  winter  throughout 
was  one  of  unusual  severity. 

As  the  Christmas  holidays  drew  near,  that  time  of  feasting 
so  precious  to  the  colored  people  raised  in  "  ole  Virginny," 
Saturn  bestirred  himself  a  little  out  of  his  perpetual  laziness. 
If  he  would  give  due  assistance  in  beating  eggs  and  grinding 
spices,  chopping  suet  and  picking  fowls,  as  well  as  "  keep  his 
wife  in  kindling-wood,"  Pallas  promised  him  rich  rewards  in 
the  way  of  dainties,  and  also  to  make  him  his  favorite,  dish 
a — wooclchuck  pie. 

"  'Clar'  to  gracious,  I  don't  feel  a  bit  of  heart  'bout  fixin' 
up  feastesses  dis  yere  Chris'mas,"  said  she  to  him,  one  evening 
ia  the  midst  of  the  bustle  of  preparation.  "  We've  allers  been 


56  ALICE    WILDE. 

Christian  folks  'nuff  to  keep  Chris1  mas,  even  in  cle  wilderness  ; 
but  what's  de  use  of  cookin'  and  cook  in'  and  dar's  Miss  Alice 
don't  eat  as  much  as  dat  frozen  chick  I  brought  in  and  put  in 
dat  basket  by  de  fire." 

"  But  dar's  masser,  lie  eat  well  'nuff, — and  I — I'se  mighty 
hungry  dese  days.  Don't  btop  cookin',  Pallas." 

"  You  hain't  got  no  more  feelin's  den  a  common  nigger, 
Saturn.  Nobody  'd  tink  you  was  brought  up  in  one  de  best 
families.  If  I  could  only  tink  of  somethin'  new  dat  would 
coax  up  pickaninny's  appetite  a  little!" 

"  P'raps  she'll  eat  some  my  woodchuck  pie,"  suggested 
Saturn. 

It  was  a  great  self-denial  for  him  to  propose  to  share  a  dish 
which  he  usually  reserved  especially  to  himself,  but  he,  too, 
felt  as  tender  as  his  organism  would  permit,  toward  his 
youthful  mistress. 

"Our  missus  eat  woodchuck  pie!  you  go  'long,  Saturn; 
she  wouldn't  stomach  it.  Dat's  nigger's  dish.  I  declar'  our 
chile  begins  to  look  jus'  as  missus  did  de  year  afore  she  died. 
I  feel  worried  'bout  her." 

"  Does  you  ?  Mebbe  she's  got  de  rheumatiz  or  dc  neu 
rology.  I  got  de  rheumatiz  bad  myself  dis  week  pas'.  Wish 
you'd  fix  up  some  of  yer  liniment,  wife." 

"  Wall,  wall,  eberybuddy  has  cler  troubles,  even  innocen' 
ones  like  our  chile.  Dis  is  a  wicked  and  a  perwerse  genera 
tion,  and  dat  is  de  reason  our  woods  tuk  fire  and  our  house 
burn  up ;  and  now  our  dear  chile  mus'  go  break  her  heart 
'bout  somebody  as  won't  say  wedder  he  lubs  her  or  not. 
She'll  go  of  consumption  jes'  as  missus  went.  Lor' !  who'd  a 
thought  our  family  wud  ever  come  to  sech  an  end  ?  I  re 
member  when  Mortimer  Moore  kep'  up  de  plantation  in  gran' 
style  'fore  he  sol'  ebery  buddy  but  you  and  I,  Saturn,  and 
kep'  us  cause  we  wouldn't  leab  de  family,  and  tuk  us  to  New 
York.  Mebbe  it  was  wicked  of  me  to  take  sides  with  my 
young  missus,  and  help  her  to  get  married  way  she  did,  and 
run  'way  wid  her,  and  see  to  her  tru  thick  and  thin.  But  I 
see  her  die,  and  now,  likely,  I'll  be  resarbed  to  see  her  chile 
die.  Dun  know  what  poor  old  woman  lib  for  to  bury  all  her 
children  for.  When  I  tink  of  all  de  mince-pies  and  de 
chicken-pies  I  use  to  make,  and  see  eat,  for  Chris'mas,  I  don't 
feel  na  heart  for  to  IIP  dis  choppin' -knife  anodder  time." 


ANOTHER    PROPOSAL.  57 

Yet  the  preparations  progressed,  and  on  Christmas  and  New 
Year's  day  the  men  at  the  mill  were  supplied  with  a  feast ; 
but  Alice  could  not  bring  herself  to  decorate  the  house  with 
wreaths  of  evergreen,  according  to  custom — it  brought  back 
hateful  fears  too  vividly.  The  unceasing  cry  of  her  heart  was 
for  the  river  to  open.  She  counted  the  hours  of  the  days 
which  must  drag  on  into  weeks  and  months. 

Ben  now  came  frequently  to  the  house.  If  Alice  would 
not  talk  to  him,  he  would  make  himself  agreeable  to  the  old 
servants ;  any  thing  for  an  excuse  to  linger  about  where  he 
could  obtain  glimpses  of  the  face  growing  so  sad  and  white. 
Mr.  Wilde  had  always  favored  him  as  a  work-hand,  and  now 
he  invited  him  often  to  his  home.  He  hoped  that  even  Ben's 
company  would  amuse  his  daughter  and  draw  her  away  from 
her  "  love-sickness." 

It  was  a  few  weeks  after  the  holidays  that,  one  evening, 
Mr.  ^Yilde  took  Alice  upon  his  knee,  smoothing  her  hair  as  if 
she  were  a  baby,  and  looking  fondly  into  her  face. 

"  I've  some  curious  news  for  you,  little  one,"  he  said,  with 
a  smile.  "  Would  you  believe  that  any  one  had  been  thinking 
of  my  little  cub  for  a  wife,  and  had  asked  me  if  he  might  talk 
to  her  about  it  ?" 

"  Was  it  Ben,  father  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  was  Ben.  No  doubt  you  knew  of  it  before,  you 
sly  puss  I" 

"  I  refused  him  long  ago,  father.     Didn't  he  tell  you  that  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Would  you  be  willing  I  should  marry  a  person  like 
him  ?" 

"  No,  not  willing.  Once  I'd  have  set  him  afloat  if  he'd  had 
the  impudence  to  mention  it.  But  you're  failing  so,  Alice,  and 
you're  so  lonesome  and  so  shut  up  here.  I  know  how  it  is. 
The  young  must  have  their  mates ;  and  if  you  want  him,  I 
shan't  make  any  serious  objection.  He's  the  best  there  is  in 
these  parts.  He's  better  than  a  flattering,  deceiving  gentleman, 
Alice.  I  was  fool  enough  once  to  imagine  you'd  never  marry, 
but  live  your  lifetime  with  yer  old  father ;  but  I  ought  to 
have  known  better.  'Tain't  the  way  of  the  world.  'Twasn't 
my  way,  nor  your  mother's  way.  No,  Alice,  if  }rer  ever  in 
love,  and  want  to  marry,  unless  I  know  the  man's  a  villain,  I 


58  ALICE   WILDE. 

sliall  make  no  objections.  Ben  loves  you,  rny  dear,  desper 
ately.  A  girl  should  give  two  thoughts  before  she  throws 
away  such  a  love  as  his.  'Tain't  every  man  is  capable  of  it." 

"  But  I'm  engaged  to  Philip  Moore,  father.  We  love  each 
other."  Her  blushing  cheek  was  pressed  against  his  that  he 
might  not  see  it. 

"  Alice,  my  child,"  said  the  raftsman  very  gently,  in  a  voice 
full  of  pity  and  tenderness ;  "  Mr.  Moore  is  a  rascal.  He  may 
have  told  you  that  he  loved  you,  but  he  don't.  He  don't  in 
tend  to  marry  you.  He's  a  d —  proud  aristocrat  !"  waxing 
wrathy  as  he  went  on.  u  There  !  there  !  don't  you  feel  hurt ; 
I  know  all  about  him.  Knew  't  he  made  fun  of  us,  after  all 
we'd  clone  for  him,  in  his  store  down  to  Center  City,  when  he 
didn't  know  Ben  was  listenin'.  Besides,  he  advised  Ben  to 
marry  you,  to  keep  you  from  breakin'  your  heart  about  him  ; 
said  you  expected  him  back  in  the  spring,  but  he  was  goin' 
on  East  to  marry  a  girl  there.  So  you  see  you  must  think  no 
more  of  that  rascally  fellow,  Alice.  If  he  ever  does  come 
back  here  I'll  whip  him." 

"  Ben  told  you  this  ?"  cried  Alice,  her  eyes  flashing  fire  and 
her  white  lips  quivering.  "  And  you  believed  the  infamous 
lie,  father  ?  No  !  no  !  Ben  has  murdered  him,  father — he  has 
murdered  my  Philip,  and  has  invented  this  lie  to  prevent  our 
expecting  him.  O  Philip!" — her  excitement  overpowered 
her  and  she  fainted  in  her  father's  arms. 

Now  that  the  tension  of  suspense  had  given  way,  and  she 
deemed  herself  certain  of  the  fate  of  her  lover,  she  yielded  for 
a  time  to  the  long-smothered  agony  within  her,  going  from 
one  fainting-fit  to  another  all  through  that  wretched  night. 

The  next  day,  when  composed  enough  to  talk,  she  told  her 
father  all — Ben's  offer  of  marriage,  his  threats,  the  circum 
stantial  evidence  which  fixed  the  guilt  of  the  assault  in  the 
woods  upon  him,  and  her  belief  now  that  Philip  had  been 
made  away  with.  The  raftsman  himself  was  startled  ;  and  to 
quiet  and  encourage  his  child,  he  promised  to  set  off,  by  to 
morrow,  upon  the  ice,  and  skate  down  to  Center  City,  that 
her  fears  might  be  dispelled  or  confirmed.  But  that  very 
night  the  weather,  which  had  been  growing  warm  for  a  week, 
melted  into  rain,  and  the  ice  became  too  rotten  to  trust. 
There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait. 


WAITING    FOR    SPRING.  59 

"  Tain't  by  no  means  certain  he's  done  sech  a  horrible 
thing-.  And  if  you'll  pick  up  courage  to  think  so,  and  make 
yerself  as  easy  as  you  can,  I'll  start  the  very  first  day  it's  pos 
sible.  Likely  in  March  the  spring  '11  open.  You  may  go 
'long  with  me,  too,  if  you  wish,  so  as  to  learn  the  news  as 
soon  as  I  do.  I'll  say  nothing  of  my  suspicions  to  young 
Perkins,  but  try  to  treat  him  the  same  as  ever,  till  I  know  he 
desarves  different." 


ALICE    WILDE. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

AWAY   FROM    HOilE. 

A  QUAINT  party  were  to  be  seen  passing  through  some  of 
the  streets  of  Center  City  one  April  clay  of  the  following  spring. 
A  tall  and  vigorous  man,  with  a  keen,  intelligent  face,  clad  in 
a  calico  shirt,  a  blue-woolen  hunter's  frock  and  buckskin 
breeches,  strode  on  as  if  anxious  to  reach  his  destination ;  or, 
rather,  as  if  used  to  making  good  time  over  endless  prairies 
and  through  unsurveyed  forests.  By  his  side  walked  a  young 
girl  whose  dress,  though  of  the  best  materials,  was  antique  as 
our  grandmothers' ;  a  broad-brimmed  hat  shaded  a  face  the 
loveliest  ever  beheld  in  that  city ;  her  little  slippers  with  their 
silver  buckles  peeped  out  from  beneath  her  short  frock.  Those 
who  were  fortunate  enough  to  see  her  as  she  passed  did  not 
know  which  to  admire  most — the  exquisite,  unstudied  grace 
of  her  manners,  which  was  as  peculiar  as  her  beauty,  or  the 
seraphic  innocence  of  her  expression.  She  kept  pace  with  her 
companion,  looking  gravely  forward  with  those  great  blue 
eyes,  only  occasionally  giving  the  crowd  a  fawn-like,  startled 
look,  when  it  pressed  too  near.  A  few  paces  behind  trudged 
an  ancient  colored  couple,  the  man  short,  and  white-eyed, 
rolling  smiles  as  he  passed,  evidently  supposing  all  the  atten 
tion  of  the  lookers-on  to  be  concentrated  on  his  flaming  vest, 
his  flowered  coat,  and  bran-new  boots;  the  woman  a  perfect 
black  Juno,  really  superb  in  her  air  and  physique,  wearing  her 
neatly-folded  yellow  turban  as  if  it  were  a  golden  crown.  She 
seldom  took  her  eyes  off  the  young  mistress  whom  she  fol 
lowed,  except  occasionally  to  frown  at  some  impudent  fellow 
who  stared  too  hard. 

The  group  wended  their  way  onward  until  they  read  the 
names  of  "  Raymond  &  Moore,"  in  gilt  letters  over  a  new 
four-story  brick  store  of  this  thriving  new  town,  and  here  they 
disappeared  from  the  view  of  outsiders. 

"  Captain  Wilde  !  how  do  you  do  ?  you're  down  early  this 
spring.  Well,  the  mill's  waiting  for  you  to  feed  it.  Come 
clown  on  a  raft  ?" 


ilR.    RAYMOND.  61 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Raymond,  a  thundering  big  one.  Brought  rny 
family  this  time  to  give  'em  a  chance  to  pick  out  a  few  things 
for  themselves.  My  daughter,  sir." 

The  merchant  gave  the  young  lady  a  chair.  She  took  it, 
mechanically,  but  her  heart,  her  eyes,  were  asking  one  ques 
tion  of  the  smiling,  curious  man,  the  friend  and  partner  of  her 
own  Philip,  who  for  the  first  time  began  to  suspect  the  cause 
which  had  kept  the  latter  so  long,  "hunting  and  fishing"  up 
at  Wilde's  mill.  Could  he  look  so  smiling,  so  assured,  and 
her  Philip  be  dead?  The  cry:  "Where  is  he?"  trembled 
silently  on  her  lips. 

"  Yes,  a  thundering  big  raft  we  got  out  this  spring.  Wood- 
choppers  to  work  all  winter,"  continued  the  raftsman,  walking 
along  farther  from  his  daughter,  and  speaking  with  apparent 
carelessness.  "  By  the  way,  where' s  Mr.  Moore  ?  did  he  get 
home  safe,  after  his  spell  of  sickness,  at  our  house  last  fall  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  he  got  home  safe  and  in  fine  spirits.  He  was 
soon  as  well  or  better  than  ever.  I  expect  he  got  pretty  good 
care,"  and  the  merchant  glanced  over  at  the  young  girl 
respectfully. 

Mr.  Raymond  was  a  good-hearted,  refined  young  married 
man ;  but  if  he  had  been  gross  or  impure,  or  not  over-fastidious, 
or  fond  of  a  jest,  there  was  something  about  both  father  and 
child  to  suppress  all  feelings  but  those  of  respect  and  wonder- 
ing  admiration,  Alice  Wilde's  beauty  was  of  a  kind  to  defy 
criticism.  She  might  have  worn  sackcloth  and  ashes,  or 
flannel  and  thick  boots,  or  a  Turkish  dress,  or  a  Puritan  maid 
en's,  or  a  queen's  robe,  it  would  have  made  but  small  differ 
ence  ;  her  loveliness  was  of  that  overmastering  kind  which 
draws  the  hearts  of  high  and  low,  and  makes  every  man  feel 
in  her  presence,  forgetful  of  every  lesser  consideration — lo  ! 
here  is  a  beautiful  woman !  Such  charms  as  hers  have  had 
great  power  whenever  they  have  been  found— they  have 
exalted  peasant  women  to  thrones,  and  led  men  of  genius  and 
rank,  as  if  they  w^ere  children,  hither  and  thither.  It  is  not 
strange  that  Alice's  personal  loveliness,  added  to  her  still  more 
unusual  unconsciousness  of  it,  and  infantile  innocence,  should 
at  once  have  commanded  the  reverence  of  people  of  the  world, 
hi  spite  of  the  quaintness  of  manner  and  attire,  in  themselves 
pretty  and  piquant. 


G2  ALICE    WILDE. 

Although  her  father  had  spoken  in  a  low  voice,  Alice  had 
heard  his  question  and  the  answer.  The  splendor  of  happi 
ness  broke  over  her  countenance — blushes  rose  to  her  cheeks 
and  smiles  to  her  eyes ;  she  hardly  dared  to  glance  in  any 
direction  lest  she  should  see  her  lover  unexpectedly,  and  be 
tray  her  joy  to  strangers. 

"  Is  he  about  the  store  this  morning ;  or  will  I  have  to  go 
to  the  mill  to  see  him  ?"  asked  the  raftsman. 

"  You  will  not  see  him  at  all,  this  trip,  I'm  afraid.  Mr. 
Moore  has  gone  on  East ;  he's  been  away  several  weeks  now, 
and  I  hardly  know  when  to  expect  him.  He  was  called  there 
quite  unexpectedly,  upon  business  connected  with  his  uncle, 
and  their  relatives  in  England.  It  would  not  surprise  me  at 
all  if  he  should  bring  a  bride  home — that  is,  if  he  can  persuade 
his  fair  cousin  that  the  West  is  not  such  a  terrible  savage 
wilderness  as  she  supposes." 

Mr.  Raymond  was  perfectly  honest  in  this  remark.  He 
knew  that  Virginia  Moore  used  to  be  the  idol  of  his  friend ; 
and  as  Philip  had  not  communicated  the  change  in  his  ideas, 
he  still  supposed  that  Philip  was  only  waiting  to  get  rich 
enough  to  go  home  and  marry  her ;  and  as  Philip  was  now 
doing  so  well  with  his  western  enterprises,  he  had  planned  it 
all  out  in  his  own  imagination — fortune,  acceptance,  and  the 
happy  finale  of  a  grand  wedding.  He  could  not  help  looking 
over  at  the  pretty  forester  to  see  how  she  received  the  news, 
but  the  porlly  person  of  the  old  colored  woman  had  come 
between  them,  and  he  could  not  see  her  face. 

"  Laws,  Miss  Alice,  do  see  them  yere  calikers — they're  sru- 
perb  !  Look  at  that  red  one  with  the  blue  flowers — 'tain't  so 
handsome  though,  as  this  with  the  yaller.  My  !  my  !  thar's  a 
jewerlly  shop  across  the  way.  Yer  fadder  ought  to  take  yer 
in  dar',  fust  place.  Young  gals  likes  them  places.  Laws, 
darlin',  dis  don't  compare  wid  New  York  City.  Le's  have  a 
drink  of  water,  and  step  over  de  street." 

All  this  volubility  was  to  screen  the  young  girl  from  scru 
tiny.  A  pitcher  of  water  stood  on  the  counter,  near  her,  and 
she  poured  a  glass  for  her  mistress.  But  Alice  waved  the 
glass  away,  and  arose  without  any  signs  of  grief  and  pain  in 
her  face ;  but  the  expression  had  changed— an  icy  pride  com 
posed  every  feature ;  she  asked  the  merchant  to  show  her  some 


HONEST    INDIGNATION.  63 

of  his  goods  in  a  clear,  low  tone  as  sweet  as  it  was  passionless. 
Hei  hand  did  not  tremble  as  she  turned  over  silks  and  laces. 

"  Good  for  her !  She's  got  her  father's  grit,"  thought  the 
raftsman  to  himself,  while  his  own  throat  swelled  almost  to 
choking  with  anger  and  grief,  and  he  felt  that  if  he  only  had 
Philip  Moore  within  sight  he  would  have  the  satisfaction  of 
of  thrashing  a  little  conscience  into  him. 

Neither  he  nor  Alice  any  longer  doubted  the  statements  of 
Ben  Perkins.  Mr.  Moore  liad  ridiculed  them— had  mockingly 
given  another  permission  to  console  her  whom  he  had  forsaken 
— had  said  that  he  was  going  East  to  marry  a  more  fit  com 
panion.  As  the  raftsman  looked  in  the  quiet  face  of  his  child 
which  repelled  sympathy  with  a  woman's  pride — that  r.ride  so 
terrible  because  it  covers  such  tortured  sensibilities— his  blood 
boiled  up  with  ungovernable  rage.  He  was  not  accustomed 
to  concealing  his  sentiments  upon  any  subject. 

"  Let  them  finnified  fixin's  alone,  Alice,"  he  said,  taking  her 
hand  and  drawing  her  away.  "Men  that  make  it  a  business 
to  handle  that  sort  of  thing,  grow  about  as  flimsy  as  their 
wares.  I  despise  'em.  I  want  you  to  understand,  Mr.  Ray 
mond,  that  all  connection  between  me  and  this  firm,  business 
or  other,  is  dissolved.  I  won't  even  take  your  cussed  money. 
When  Mr.  Moore  returns,  tell  him  that  the  laws  of  hospitality 
practised  by  your  four-story-bricks  ain't  known  in  squatters' 
cabins,  and  if  he  ever  comes  on  my  premises  again  I'll  consider 
myself  at  liberty  to  shoot  him  down  for  a  dog ;"  and  before 
the  surprised  merchant  could  reply  he  had  strode  forth. 

"  Come  'long,  Saturn  !  don'  stan'  dar'  stariu' ;  don't  yer  see 
inasser's  gone  ?  I  shall  be  sorry  I  brought  yer  'long  ef  yer 
don't  behabe  wid  more  propisciousuess.  What  der  s'pose 
folks  '11  link  your  missus  and  masser  is,  ef  you  don't  act  like  a 
fust-family  nigger  ?  Ef  yer  don't  do  credit  to  Miss  Alice,  I'll 
nebber  bring  you  'way  from  home  agin;"  and  Pallas  took 
"her  nigger"  by  the  elbow  and  drew  him  away  from  the 
fascinating  array  of  dry-goods  and  ready-made  clothing. 

That  afternoon  Captain  Wilde  and  his  daughter  sat  in  a 
little  private  sitting-room  of  the  hotel,  overlooking  the  street. 
Every  thing  was  novel  to  Alice.  This  was  absolutely  her 
first  experience  away  from  her  forest  home.  Yet  upon  all  the 
bus}-,  bustling  scene  beneath  her  she  gazed  with  vacant  eyes. 


64  ALICE    WILDE. 

About  the  rapid  rise  and  growth  of  some  of  our  western 
cities  there  is  an  air  peculiar  to  themselves — an  experience 
unique  in  the  history  of  civilization.  Situated  amid  scenes  of 
unparalleled  beauty,  they  seem  to  jar  upon  and  disturb  the 
harmony  of  their  surroundings ;  brick  and  plaster,  new  shingles, 
and  glowing  white  paint,  unsubdued  by  time,  rise  up  in  the 
midst  of  fairy-land ;  rude  wharves  just  over  the  silver  waters 
where  erst  the  silent  canoe  of  the  Indian  only  glided ;  wild 
roses  flush  the  hill-sides  crowned  with  sudden  dwellings; 
stately  old  forests  loom  up  as  backgrounds  to  the  busiest  of 
busy  streets.  The  shrill  cry  of  the  steam-whistle  startles  the 
dreamy  whippoorwill ;  the  paddle-wheel  of  the  intrusive' 
steamboat  frightens  the  indolent  salmon  from  k&  visions  of 
peace.  As  the  landscape,  so  the  people ;  curiously  mixed  of 
rough  and  refined.  Center  City  was  one  of  the  most  pictur 
esque  of  these  young  towns ;  and,  at  present,  one  of  the  most 
prosperous.  Broken-down  speculators  from  th%  East  came 
thither  and  renewed  their  fortunes ;  and  enterprising  young 
men  began  life  with  flattering  prospects. 

It  was  upon  th^  principal  street  that  Alice  sat  and  looked. 
Streams  of  people  hurried  by,  like*  the  waves  of  the  river  past 
her  cabin  in  the  wood.  She  saw  ladies  dressed  in  a  fashion 
differing  widely  from  her  own ;  across  the  way,  in  a  suite  of 
parlors  in  the  second  story,  she  saw,  through  the  open  blind, 
a  young  girl  of  about  her  own  age  sitting  at  a  musical  instru 
ment,  from  which  she  drew,  as  if  by  magic,  music  that  held 
her  listener  as  by  golden  chains.  New  thoughts  and  aims 
came  into  the  mind  of  the  raftsman's  daughter.  Pride  was 
struggling  to  heal  the  wounds  which  love  had  made. 

"  Father,  will  you  send  me  to  school  ?" 

For  a  long  time  there  was  no  answer ;  his  head  was  bent 
upon  his  hand.  She  crept  upon  his  knee,  in  her  little-girl 
way,  and  drew  away  the  hand. 

"  It'll  be  undoin'  the  work  of  sixteen  year  to  send  you  to 
one  of  them  boarding-schools.  They'll  learn  you  plenty  of 
vanity  and  worse  things,  my  child ;  they'll  make  you  unfit  to 
be  happy  and  contented  with  yer  plain  old  father.  But  that 
you  are  already.  I've  made  a  failure.  You're  too  good  for 
them  that's  about  you,  and  not  good  enough  for  them  you 
wish  to  be  like.  Go  to  school  if  you  want  to,  child;  go,  and 


BOARDING-SCHOOL.  65 

learn  to  put  on  airs  and  despise  those  who  would  give  their 
heart's  blood  for  ye.  I  shall  make  no  objections." 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  learn  to  be  so  very  bad,  father  ?  If 
you  can  not  trust  ^me,  I  will  not  go.  So  let  us  say  no  more 
about  it,"  and  she  kissed  him. 

u  Thar',  thar\  child,  I  didn't  mean  to  deny  ye.  But  I  feel 
bitter  to-day—hard  and  bitter — as  I  used  to  in  days  gone  by, 
when,  your  mother  died,  turned  off  by  them  that  were  ashamed 
of  yer  father.  If  you'll  only  keep  like  yer  mother,  you  may 
do  what  you  will.  She  went  to  school,  and  she  knew  more 
than  a  dozen  fine-lady  scholars ;  but  it  didn't  spoil  her.  May 
be. I've  done  wrong  to  bring  you  up  the  way  I  have — to  visit 
my  experience  and  my  doubts  on  your  j^oung  head.  We  must 
all  live  and  learn  for  ourselves.  Go  to  school,  if  you  want  to. 
I'll  try  and  get  along,  without  my  little  cubbie  for  a  year  or 
two." 

"  It's  hard?  father — hard  for  me— but  I  wish  it."  Pride  was 
steeling  the  heart  of  the  forest  maiden.  "  But  are  you  able, 
father;  can  you  pay  the  expense." 

This  thought  never  came  to  her  until  after  she  had  his 
prolnise. 

"  Yes,  I'm  able— and 'if  it's  done,  it  shall  be  done  in  the  best 
style.  I  haven't  cut  down  all  the  pine  timber  I've  set  afloat 
for  the  last  fifteen  year,  without  laying  up'somethimg  for  my 
cub.  I  want  you  to  dress  as  well  as  any  you  see,  and  study 
whatever  you  like,  and  play  lady  to  yer  heart's  content. 
You'd  better  find  a  dress-maker,  the  first  thing,  and  not  be 
stared  at  every  time  you  step  out  of  the  door.  Get  yourself 
silks  and  satins,  girl,  and  hold  your  head  up  like  the  queen  of 
the  prairie." 

When  Captain  Wilde  returned  up  the  river,  he  and  his  sable 
suite  made  a  melancholy  journey ;  for  the  light  of  their  eyes, 
the  joy  of  their  hearts,  was  left  behind  them. 

A  young  ladies'  seminary,  "  a  flourishing  young  institution, 
beautifully  located  in  a  healthy  region,  with  spacious  grounds 
enjoying  the  salubrious  river-breezes,"  etc.,  etc.,  held  prisoner, 
the  wild  bird  of  the  forest. 

"  Where's  your  daughter  ?"  asked  Ben  Perkins  of  his  em 
ployer,  when  he  saw  the  returning  party  land  without  Alice. 
His  face  was  blanched  to  a  dead-white,  for  lie  expected  cer- 
3 


66  ALICE    WILDE. 

tainly  to  hear  that  she  had  been  claimed  as  his  bride  by  Philip 
Moore. 

"  Yer  story  was  true,  Ben,  though  I  did  ye  the  wrong  to 
doubt  it.  Alice  will  never  be  the  wife  of  that  counter-jumper. 
But  she'll  never  be  yours,  neither ;  so  you  might  as  well  give 
up,  first  as  last.  Go  off  somewhere,  Ben,  and  find  somebody 
else ;  that's  my  advice." 

"  Look-a-here,  Captain  Wilde,  I  know  you  mean  the  best, 
and  that  my  chance  is  small ;  but  I  tell  you,  sir,  jest  as  long 
as  Alice  is  tree  to  choose,  and  I've  got  breath  and  sense  to  try 
for  her,  I  shan't  give  her  up.  Never,  sir!  I'll  work  my 
fingers  off  to  serve  you  and  her — I'll  wait  years — I'll  do  any 
thing  you  ask,  only  so  you  won't  lay  any  thing  in  my  way." 

The  raftsman  looked  pityingly  in  the  haggard  face  of  the 
speaker — the  face  which  a  year  ago  was  so  bright  and  boyish. 
He  saw  working  in  those  dark  lineaments,  in  the  swart  blood 
coursing  under  the  olive  skin,  in  the  gleam  of  the  black  eyes, 
passions  difficult  to  check,  which  might  urge  him  in  future 
years  to  yet  other  crimes  than  the  one  into  which  he  had 
already  been  betrayed. 

"  You're  high-tempered,  Ben,  my  boy,  and  a  little  too  lough 
to  suit  a  girl  like  mine.  She  knows  what  your  temper  has 
already  led  you  to  do ;"  and  he  looked  straight  at  the  youth 
as  he  spoke,  whose  eyes  wavered  and  sunk  to  the  ground — it 
was  the  first  intimation  he  had  had  that  his  guilt  was  sus 
pected.  "  Why  not  go  off,  and  find  some  one  more  like  your 
self—some  pretty,  red-cheeked  lass  who'll  think  you  the  best 
and  handsomest  fellow  on  the  earth,  and  be  only  too  happy  to 
marry  you  ?  Thar's  plenty  such  chances— and  you'd  be  a 
deal  happier." 

"  Don't,  don't  talk  so  !"  burst  forth  Ben,  impetuously.  "  ] 
can't  do  it,  and  that's  the  end  on  't.  I've  tried  to  get  away, 
but  I'm  bound  here.  It's  like  as  if  my  feet  were  tied  to  this 
ground.  I've  done  bad  things  in  my  determination  to  keep 
others  away.  I  know  it,  and  I  own  up  to  it,  I've  been 
desp'rate— crazy  !  But  I  ain't  a  bad  fellow.  If  Miss  Alice 
would  smile  upon  me,  'pears  to  me  I  couldn't  be  bad— 'pears 
to  me  I'd  try  to  get  to  be  as  good  as  she  is.  Even  if  she 
never  would  marry  me,  if  she'd  let  me  stay  'round  and  work 
for  you,  and  she  didn't  take  up  with  nobody  else,  I'd  be  con- 


A    TIfAJSKLESS    CliilAX  67 

tent.  But  if  I  have  to  give  her  up  entire!}-,  I  expect  I'll  make 
a  pretty  bad  man,  cap'n.  I've  all  kinds  of  wicked  thoughts 
about  it,  and  I  can't  help  it.  I  ain't  made  of  milk-and-water. 
I'd  rather  light  a  bar'  than  court  a  girl.  I  shan't  never  ask 
another  woman  to  have  me — no,  sir !  IYi  'ave  made  you  a 
good  son,  if  all  hands  had  boen  willin'.  But  if  Miss  Alice 
means  to  make  herself  a  fine  lady  to  catch  some  other  sweet 
lady-killer  like  the  one  that's  given  her  the  mitten,  it's  her 
choice.  She'll  up  and  marry  somebody  that  won't  speak  to 
her  old  father,  I  s'pose." 

"  Thar's  no  telling,"  answered  the  raftsman,  sadly  ;  for,  in 
truth,  the  changed  manner  of  his  darling  ^before  he  left  her, 
lay  like  a  weight  upon  his  memory  and  heart.  He  felt  a 
chord  of  sympathy  binding  him  to  the  young  man,  as  if  theirs 
was  a  common  cause.  Alice  seemed  to  have  receded  from 
them,  as  in  a  dream,  growing  more  cold  and  reserved,  as  she 
glided  into  the  distance.  Her  trouble,  instead  of  flinging  her 
more  closely  into  her  father's  arms,  had  torn  her  from  him, 
and  taught  her  self-control.  She  had  deserted  her  home,  had 
left  him  to  care  for  himself,  while  she  fitted  herself  for  some 
sphere  into  which  he  could  not  come.  That  "  sharper  than  a 
serpent's  tooth— a  thankless  child,"  he  was  tempted  to  call 
her.  Yet  his  heart  refused  such  an  accusation.  She  had 
been  suddenly  shaken  in  her  innocent  faith  in  others,  had 
been  wounded  in  pride  and  deserted  hi  love — and  her  present 
mood  was  the  high  reaction  of  the  blow.  Presently  she 
would  be  herself  again,  would  come  back  to  her  home  and 
her  humble  friends  with  the  same  modest,  affectionate,  gentle 
character  as  of  old. 

But  he  would  treat  her  differently;  he  would  gratify  her 
love  of  the  beautiful.  She  should  have  books,  music,  fine 
furniture,  fine  clothes.  Pie  did  not,  j!sk  himself  what  all  these 
would  be  worth  without  that  paramount  necessity  of  the 
youthful  mind— companionship.  Alas !  the  raftsman,  bring 
ing  up  his  idol  in  seclusion,  had  foolishly  and  selfishly  thought 
to  fix  her  heart  only  upon  himself;  but  the  little  bird  had 
learned  to  fly  and  had  gone  out  of  the  parent  nest,  fluttering 
out  into  the  untried  world,  impelled  by  the  consciousness  of 
wines. 


68  ALICE    WILDE. 


CHAPTER     IX. 

A    ROLAND    FOB    AN    OLIVER. 

u  You  are  ricli,  Philip  !" 

"  Yes,  Virginia,  or  soon  shall  be." 

"  How  like  a  fairy-story  it  all  sounds." 

"  Or  a  modern  novel." 

"  We  can  be  happy  note,  PMlip  /" 

The  two  young  people  were  leaning  over  the  balustrade  of 
a  balcony  of  the  summer  residence  of  Mortimer  Moore.  The 
rich  moonlight  was  still  permeated  with  the  rosy  tinges  of 
sunset;  the  early  dew  called  out  the  fragrance  of  a  near 
meadow  in  which  the  grass  had  been  cut  that  day,  and  its 
odors  were  mingled  with  the  perfumes  of  roses  and  lilies  in 
the  garden  beneath  the  balcony.  It  was  an  hour  to  intoxicate 
the  souls  of  the  young  and  loving.  If  Virginia  had  been 
dressing  herself  for  a  ball  she  would  not  have  used  more  care 
than  she  had  shown  in  the  simple  afternoon  toilet  she  now 
wore — simple,  and  yet  the  result  of  consummate  tact.  A 
single  string  of  pearls  looped  up  the  heavy  braids  of  black 
hair,  an  Indian  muslin  robe,  in  whose  folds  lurked  precious 
perfumes,  floated  about  her  form,  the  wide,  full  sleeves  falling 
away  from  the  ivory  arms,  gave  softness  to  their  rounded  out 
lines.  A  bunch  of  violets  nestled  in  the  semi-transparent 
fabric  where  it  was  gathered  over  her  bosom.  The  creamy 
tint  of  her  low,  smooth  forehead  just  deepened  in  her  cheek 
to  that  faint  flush  which  you  see  in  the  heart  of  a  tea-rose ; 
her  straight  brows,  long  lashes,  and  the  deep,  dark  eyes  smil 
ing  under  them,  all  showed  to  wonderful  advantage  in  the 
delicious  light. 

As  she  uttered  the  last  words,  she  laid  her  hand  lightly 
upon  Philip's  arm,  and  looked  up  into  his  face.  He  was  fully 
aware,  at  that  moment,  of  her  attractions ;  a  smile,  the  mean 
ing  of  which  she  could  not  fully  fathom,  answered  her  own, 
as  he  said  : 

u  I  hope  we  can  be  happy,  my  fair  cousin.     I  expect  to  be 


THE    LADY    OF    LYONS.  69 

very  much  blessed  as  soon  as  a  slight  suspense  which  I  endure 
is  done  away  with." 

"  "Why  should  you  feel  suspense,  Philip  ?  every  thing  smiles 
upon  you." 

"  I  see  you  are  smiling  upon  me,  my  beautiful  cousin  ;  and 
that  is  a  great  deal,  if  not  every  thing.  You  always  promised 
to  smile  upon  me,  you  know,  if  I  ever  got  gold  enough  to 
make  it  prudent." 

"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  there  was  sarcasm  in  your  voice, 
Philip.  You  know  that  I  have  always  thought  more  of  you 
than  any  one  else  ;  and  if  I  would  not  marry  you  when  poor, 
it  was  because  I  dared  not.  Now  we  are  equal — in  fortune, 
youth,  health.  My  father  is  so  much  better.  He  was  out 
walking  this  afternoon  ;  the  country  air  has  benefited  him. 
The  doctor  thinks  it  may  be  years  before  he  has  another  at 
tack.  You've  been  very  kind  to  him,  Philip.  When  our 
fortunes  are  joined,  we  can  live  almost  as  we  please — as  well 
as  I  care  to  live.  Won't  it  be  charming  ?" 

The  tapering  white  hand  slid  down  upon  his  own. 

"  Very.  You  remember  that  trite  passage  in  the  Lady  of 
Lyons,  which  the  mob,  the  vulgar  crowd,  are  still  disposed  to 
encore.  Supposing  we  change  the  scene  from  the  Lake  of 
Como  to  the  banks  of  the  Hudson — listen,  Virginia !  how 
prettily  sentiment  sounds  in  this  moonshine  : 

' '  A  palace  lifting  to  eternal  summer 
Its  marble  walls,  from  out  a  glossy  bower 
Of  coolest  foliage,  musical  with  birds, 
Whose  songs  should  syllable  thy  name  !     At  noon 
We'd  sit  beneath  the  arching  vines,  and  wonder 
Why  earth  should  be  unhappy,  while  the  heavens 
Still  left  us  youth  and  love.    'We'd  have  no  friends 
That  were  not  lovers  ;  no  ambition,  save 
To  excel  them  all  in  love — that  we  might  smile 
To  think  how  poorly  eloquence  of  words 
Translates  the  poetry  of  hearts  like  ours. 
And  when  night  came,  amidst  the  breudthless  heavens, 
We'd  guess  what  star  should  be  our  home  when  love  - 
Becomes  immortal;  while  the  perfumed  light 
Stole  through  the  mist  of  alabaster  lamps, 
And  every  air  was  heavy  with  the  sighs 
Of  orange-groves  and  music  of  sweet  lutes, 
And  murmurs  of  low  fountains  that  gush  forth 
In  the  midst  of  roses  !     Dost  thou  Like  the  picture  ?' 

Go  on,  Virginia,  can't  you  act  your  part  ?" 


70  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  Let  me  see,  can  I  recall  it  ? — 

"  '  Oh,  as  the  bee  upon  the  flower,  I  hang 
Upon  the  honey  of  thy  eloquent  tongue  ; 
Am  I  not  blest?     And  if  I  lore  too  wildly — 
Who  would  not  love  thee  like  Virginia?' " 

"  A  very  passable  actress  you  are,  cousin.  I'd  have  thought 
you  really  meant  that,  once,  you  put  such  fervor  in  your  voice. 

But— 

"  '0  false  one  ! 
It  is  i\\e  prince  thou  lovest,  not  the  man.' " 

"  Nay,  Philip,  like  Pauline,  I  must  plead  that  you  wrong 
me.  Already,  before  my  father  summoned  you,  before  we 
heard  the  whisper  of  your  coming  fortune,  I  had  resolved  to 
search  you  out  and  take  back  my  cruel  resolution — more  cruel 
to  myself  than  to  you.  I  found  that  I  had  overrated  my 
powers  of  endurance — that  I  did  not  know  my  own  heart. 
Dear  Philip,  will  you  not  forgive  me  ?  Remember  how  I  was 
brought  up." 

Two  tears  glimmered  in  the  moonlight  and  plashed  upon 
his  hand.  They  ought  to  have  melted  a  stonier  susceptibility 
than  his. 

"Willingly,  Virginia.  I  forgive  you  from  my  heart— -and 
more,  I  thank  you  for  that  very  refusal  which  you  now  re 
gret.  If  that  refusal  had  not  driven  me  into  the  wilds  of  the 
West,  I  should  never  have  met  my  perfect  ideal  of  woman 
hood.  But  I  have  found  her  there.  A  woman,  a  child 
rather,  as  beautiful  as  yourself — as  much  more  beautiful, 
as  love  is  lovelier  than  pride  ;  an  Eve  in  innocence,  with  a 
soul  as  crystal  as  a  silver  lake  ;  graceful  as  the  breezes  and 
the  wild  fawns ;  as  loving  as  love  itself;  and  so  ignorant  that 
she  does  not  know  the  worth  of  money,  and  didn't  inquire 
about  the  settlements  when  I  asked  her  to  marry  me.  Think 
of  that,  Virginia !" 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Philip  ?" 

"  I  am.  I  am  sorry  for  your  disappointment,  my  sweet 
cousin,  and  hope  you  have  not  thrown  away  any  eligible 
chances  while  waiting  for  me.  I'm  going  to-morrow,  as  fast 
as  steam  can  carry  me,  to  put  an  end  to  that  suspense  of 
which  I  spoke.  My  little  bird  is  deep  in  the  western  forests, 
looking  out  for  me  with  those  blue  eyes  of  hers,  so  wistfully, 


GIVING    THE    MITTEX.  71 

for  I  promised  to  be  back  long  ago.  Your  father's  affairs  are 
in  a  tangled  condition,  I  warn,  you,  Virginia ;  and  you'd  bet 
ter  tiake  a  good  mutch  while  you've  still  the  reputation  of 
being  an  heiress.  I've  been  trying  to  get  my  uncle's  matters 
into  shape  for  him  ;  but  I'm  quite  discouraged  with  the  re 
sult." 

"  Perhaps  that's  the  reason  you  have  forgotten  me  so  easily, 
Philip." 

"  I  should  expect  you,  my  disinterested  and  very  charming 
cousin,  to  entertain  such  a  suspicion  ;  but  my  pretty  forester 
lives  in  a  log-cabin,  and  has  neither  jewels  nor  siik  dresses. 
So,  you  see,  I  am  not  mercenary.  Her  '  loveliness  needs  not 
the  foreign  aid  of  ornament.'  She  looks  better  with  a  wild- 
rose  in  her  hair  than  any  other  lady  I  ever  saw  with  a  wreath 
of  diamonds." 

"  You  are  in  a  very  generous  mood,  this  evening,  Philip 
Moore.  You  might  at  least  spare  comparisons  to  the  woman 
you  have  refused." 

"  I  couldn't  inflict  any  wounds  upon  your  heart,  cousin  ; 
for  that's  nothing  but  concentrated  carbon — it's  yet  beyond 
the  fusible  state,  and  it's  nothing  now  but  a  great  diamond- 
very  valuable,  no  doubt,  but  altogether  too  icy  cold  in  its 
sparkle  for  me." 

"  Go  on,  sir.  My  punishment  is  just,  I  know.  I  remember 
when  you  were  the  pleader — yet  I  was  certainly  more  merciful 
than  you.  I  tempered  my  refusal  with  tears  of  regret,  while 
you  spice  yours  with  pungent  little  peppery  sarcasms." 

"  Don't  pull  those  violets  to  pieces  so,  Virginia.  I  love  those 
flowers;  and  that's  the  reason  you  wore  them  tonight.  If 
you'd  have  followed  your  own  taste,  you'd  have  worn  japonicas. 
But,  seriously,  I  must  go  to-morrow.  I  have  remained  away 
from  my  business  much  longer  than  I  should  ;  but  I  could 
not  desert  my  uncle  in  his  sickness  and  difficulties  until  I  saw 
him  better.  He  was  kind  to  me  in  my  boyhood,  he  made 
me  much  of  what  I  am,  and  if  he  did  not  think  me  fitted  to 
carry  the  honors  of  his  family  to  the  next  generation,  I  can 
still  be  grateful  for  what  he  did  do." 

"  You  do  not  give  me  credit  for  the  change  which  has  come 
over  me — if  you  did,  you  could  not  leave  me  so  coolly.  I'm 
not  so  bound  up  in  appearances  as  I  was  once.  Ah,  Philip  ! 


72  ALICE    WILDE. 

this  old  country-house  will  be  intolerably  lonely  when  you  arc 
gone." 

He  looked  down  into  the  beautiful  face  trembling  with 
emotion  ;  he  had  never  seen  her  when  she  looked  so  fair  a? 
then,  because  he  had  never  seen  her  when  her  feelings  were 
really  so  deeply  touched.  The  memory  of  the  deep  passion  he 
had  once  felt  for  her  swept  back  over  him,  tumultuous  as  the 
waves  of  a  sea.  Her  cheek,  wet  with  tears,  and  flushed  with 
feeling,  pressed  against  his  arm.  It  was  a  dangerous  hour  for 
the  peace  of  that  other  young  maiden  in  the  far  West.  Old 
dreams,  old  habits,  old  hopes,  old  associates,  the  glittering  of 
the  waves  of  the  Hudson,  familiar  to  him  from  infancy,  the 
scent  of  the  sea-breeze,  and  the  odors  of  the  lilies  in  the  home 
stead  garden,  the  beautiful  face  upon  his  arm  which  he  had 
watched  since  it  was  a  babe's  rosy  face  in  its  cradle, —  all 
these  things  had  power,  and  were  weaving  about  him  a  rapid 
spell. 

"What  docs  that  childish,  ignorant  young  thing  know  of 
love,  Philip  ?  If  some  rustic  fellow  with  rosy  cheeks,  who 
could  not  write  his  own  name,  had  been  the  first  to  ask  her, 
she  would  have  said  '  Yes'  just  as  prettily  as  she  did  to  you. 
But  I  have  been  tried— I  know  others,  myself,  and  you.  My 
judgment  and  my  pride  approve  my  affection.  Then  the 
West  is  no  place  for  a  man  like  you.  You  used  to  be  am 
bitious — to  plan  out  high  things  for  your  future.  I  adore  am 
bition  in  a  man.  I  would  not  have  him  sit  at  niy  feet  day  and 
night,  and  make  no  effort  to  conquer  renown.  I  would  have 
him  great,  that  I  might  honor  his  greatness.  I  would  aspire 
with  and  for  him.  You  might  be  a  shining  light  here,  Philip, 
where  it  is  a  glory  to  shine.  Why  will  you  throw  yourself 
away  upon  a  rude  and  uncultivated  community  ?  Stay  here 
a  week  or  two  longer,  and  think  better  of  the  mode  of  life 
you  have  chosen." 

The  moon  hung  in  the  heavens,  high  and  pure,  drawing 
the  tides  of  the  ocean,  whose  sighs  they  could  almost  hear ; 
and  like  the  moon,  fair  and  serene,  the  memory  of  Alice 
Yvrilde  hung  in  the  heaven  of  Philip's  heart,  calming  the 
earthly  tide  of  passion  which  beat  and  murmured  in  his  breast. 
fie  remembered  that  touching  assurance  of  hers  that  she 
would  sacrifice  herself  for  him,  at  any  time,  and  he  could  not 


DEATH-BED    REPENTAKCE.  73 

think  her  iove  was  a  chance  tiling,  which  would  have  been 
given  to  a  commoner  man  just  as  readily. 

"  I  have  tarried  too  long  already,  Virginia  ;  I  must  go  to 
morrow." 

He  did  not  go  on  the  morrow  ;  for  while  they  stood  there 
tipon  the  balcony  in  the  summer  moonshine,  a  servant  came 
hastily  with  vrord,  that  the  master  of  the  house  was  again 
stricken  down,  in  his  library,  as  he  sat  reading  the  evening- 
paper. 

He  was  carried  to  his  room,  and  laid  upon  his  bed  in  an 
unconscious  state.  Everybody  seemed  to  feel,  from  the  mo 
ment  of  his  attack,  that  this  time  there  was  no  hope  of  his 
recovery.  The  family  physician  had  only  left  him  and  re 
turned  to  the  city  a  day  or  two  previously.  The  evening 
boat  would  be  at  the  landing  just  below  in  fifteen  minutes ; 
Philip  ordered  a  trusty  servant  to  proceed  on  board  of  her  to 
New  York,  and  bring  back  the  medical  attendant  by  the  re 
turn  boat  in  the  morning.  Meanwhile  he  did  what  little  he 
could  for  the  relief  of  the  unconscious  man,  while  Virginia, 
pale  as  her  dress,  the  flowers  in  her  bosom  withering  beneath 
the  tears  which  fell  upon  them,  sat  by  the  bedside,  holding 
the  paralyzed  hand  which  made  no  response  to  her  clasp. 
Hours  passed  in  this  manner;  toward  morning,  while  both 
sat  watching  for  some  sign  of  returning  sensibility  to  the 
deathly  features,  the  sufferer's  eyes  unclosed  and  he  looked 
about  him  with  a  wandering  air — 

"  Where  is  Alice  ?  Alice  !  Alice  !  why  don't  you  come  ? 
I've  forgiven  you,  quite,  and  I  want  you  to  come  home." 

"  He  is  thinking  of  my  sister,"  whispered  Virginia,  looking 
with  awe  into  the  eyes  which  did  not  recognize  her,  and 
drawing  her  cousin  nearer  to  her  side. 

"  Don't  tell  me  she  is  dead — Alice,  the  pride  of  my  house- 
not  dead !" 

"  Oh,  it  is  terrible  to  see  him  in  such  a  state.  Philip,  can't 
you  do  something  to  relieve  him  ?" 

"  Virginia,  poor  child  !  I'm  afraid  he  is  beyond  mortal  aid. 
Be  brave,  my  clear  girl,  I  will  help  you  to  bear  it." 

Philip  could  not  refuse,  in  that  sad  hour,  his  sympathy  and 
tenderness  to  the  frightened,  sorrowful  woman  who  had  only 
him  to  cling  to.  Presently  the  wild  look  faded  out  of  the 
sick  man's  eyes. 


74  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  Virginia,  is  that  you  ?  My  poor  child,  I  am  dying.  Noth 
ing  can  save  me  now.  I  leave  you  alone,  no  father,  no 
mother,  sister,  or  brother,  or  husband  to  care  for  you  when  I 
am  gone.  Philip,  are  you  here?  will  you  be  all  these  to 
Virginia  ?  Do  not  hesitate,  do  not  let  pride  control  you  in 
this  hour.  I  know  that  I  rejected  you  once,  when  you  asked 
to  be  my  son ;  but  I  see  my  mistake  now.  You  have  been 
very  kind  and  unselfish  to  me  since  I  sent  for  you.  You  are 
a  man  of  prudence  and  honor.  I  should  die  content,  if  I 
knew  Virginia  was  your  wife,  if  you  had  not  a  thousand  dol 
lars  to,  call  your  own.  Poor  girl  !  she  will  have  very  little, 
after  all  my  vain  seeking  of  wealth  for  her.  Gold  is  nothing 
— happiness  is  all.  Virginia,  take  warning  by  me.  I  am  a 
witness  of  the  hollowness  of  pride.  I  have  been  a  sad  and 
discontented  man  for  years.  The  memory  of  my  cruelty  to 
my  Alice  has  stood  like  a  specter  between  me  and  joy. 
Choose  love— marry  for  love.  Philip  is  more  than  worthy  of 
you  ;  try  to  make  him  happy.  My  boy,  you  do  not  speak. 
Take  her  hand,  here,  and  promise  me  that  you  will  take  good 
care  of  my  last  and  only  child." 

He  had  uttered  all  this  in  a  low  voice,  rapidly,  as  if  afraid 
his  strength  would  not  last  him  to  say  what  he  wished.  Vir 
ginia  turned  to  her  cousin  and  seized  his  hand. 

"  Philip  !  Philip  !  can  you  refuse — can  you  desert  me,  too  ? 
O  father !  I  shall  be  alone  in  this  world." 

"  Why  do  you  not  promise  me,  and  let  me  die  in  peace  ?" 
exclaimed  the  old  man  with  some  of  that  stern  command  in 
his  voice  which  had  become  a  part  of  him  ;  "  do  you  not  love 
my  child  ?" 

u  Not  as  I  did  once.  At  least — but  that's  no  matter.  Do 
not  distress  yourself,  uncle,  about  Virginia.  I  will  be  to  her 
a  true  and  faithful  brother.  I  promise  to  care  for  her  and 
share  with  her  as  if  she  were  my  sister." 

"  If  I  could  see  her  your  wife,  my  boy,  I  should  feel  repaid 
for  all  I  have  done  for  you,  since  you  were  thrown  upon  my 
hands,  an  orphan  and  friendless,  as  my  child  will  soon  be. 
Send  for  the  priest,  children,  and  make  it  'sure." 

Philip  was  silent  ;  his  cousin,  too,  was  silent  and  trembling. 

"Don't  you  see  I'm  going  ? — do  you  want  to  let  me  die  un 
satisfied  ?" — the  querulous  voice  was  weak  and  sinking. 


Tim    ORPHAN    GIRL.  75 

"  I  promise  to  be  a  brother  to  Virginia — to  care  for  her  as 
if  she  were  my  own,  uncle.  Is  not  that  enough  ?" 

"  No — no — no  !"  fretted  the  dying  man,  who,  having  been 
Unreasonable  and  exacting  all  his  life,  could  not  change  his 
nature  at  the  hour  of  death. 

Distressed  and  uncertain  what  to  do,  tempted  by  the  force 
of  circumstances,  Philip  wavered ;  but  the  moment  when  his 
promise  would  have  given  his  uncle  any  satisfaction  had 
passed — the  awful  change  was  upon  his  face,  the  sweat  upon 
his  brow,  the  rattle  in  his  throat. 

"  O,  my  father !"  sobbed  Virginia,  sinking  upon  her  knees 
and  flinging  her  arms  over  the  heart  which  had  ceased  to 
beat. 

The  gray  morning  broke  over  her  as  she  wept  wildly  be 
side  the  bed.  Philip  was  obliged  to  draw  her  away  from  the 
room  by  force,  while  others  came  to  attend  upon  the  dead. 
To  sec  her  so  given  up  to  grief,  so  desolate,  with  no  one  but 
himself  to  whom  she  could  turn,  touched  him  with  pity  and 
tenderness. 

"  Weep,  if  you  will,  poor  girl,  it  will  be  better  than  choking 
back  all  those  tears.  Weep  in  my  arms,  for  I  am  your  brother 
now,"  he  said,  very  gently,  as  he  seated  her  upon  a  sofa  and 
drew  her  head  to  his  shoulder,  soothing  her  and  quieting  her 
excess  of  emotion,  until,  from  fatigue  and  exhaustion,  she 
dropped  asleep  on  his  bosom. 

u  How  lovely  she  is,  with  her  arrogance  and  vanity  all 
melted  away  by  some  real  sorrow,"  he  thought,  as  he  laid  her 
carefully  upon  the  pillow,  and  went  out  to  give  directions  to 
the  disturbed  household. 

During  the  next  week  Philip  made  himself  of  use  to  all, 
overseeing,  quietly  directing  and  controlling  every  thing ;  and 
when  the  funeral  was  over,  the  outer  excitement  subsided,  and 
nothing  left  but  that  emptiness  and  shadow  of  the  house  from 
which  the  dead  has  recently  been  borne,  then  he  had  to  con 
sult  with  the  orphan  girl  what  should  be  done  for  the  future. 

"  Will  you  stay  where  you  are  for  the  summer,  while  I  go 
back  and  attend  to  my  affairs  at  the  West  ?  If  you  will,  I 
can  come  back  again  in  the  autumn,  and  we  can  then  decide 
upon  some  settled  plan  for  the  future." 

"  I  can  stay  here,  if  you  think  best.     But  it  seems  to  me  u3 


76  ALICE    WILDE. 

if  I  shall  go  wild  with  fear  and  loneliness  in  this  great  house, 
with  no  one  but  the  servants,  after  you  are  gone.  I  don't 
know  ichat  to  do,  Philip." 

"  Is  there  no  friend  of  your  own  sex  who  would  be  comfort 
and  company,  whom  you  could  invite  to  stay  with  you  till  I 
come  back  ?  You  will  not  wish  to  go  into  town  this  weather. 
Besides,  my  dear  girl,  I  must  tell  you  that  the  town-house 
will  not  be  long  in  your  hands.  When  the  estate  is  settled 
up,  this  property  here,  and  a  small  annuity  possibly,  will  be  aL 
that  I  can  save  for  you.  Will  it  not  be  best  for  you  to  break 
up,  dismiss  the  expensive  array  of  servants,  rent  your  house, 
and  board  in  some  agreeable  family?" 

"Oh,  Philip,  I  don't  know.  I  can't  think  and  I  can't  decide. 
I  know  nothing  of  business.  I  wish  you  to  do  every  thing 
for  me ;"  her  helplessness  appealed  to  him  strongly. 

She  could  only  think  of  one  way  with  Avhich  she  should  be 
happy  and  content ;  but  he  did  not  propose  that  way. 

"  I  can  only  suggest  this,  then,  for  the  present :  stay  where 
you  are  now  until  I  go  home  and  arrange  matters  there.  I 
must  go  home  for  a  few  weeks.  In  the  mean  time  the  affairs 
of  the  estate  will  be  closing  up.  When  I  return,  I  will  see  to 
them  ;  and  when  all  is  settled,  if  you  wish  to  go  to  the  West 
with  me,  you  shall  go.  If  I  have  a  home  by  that  time,  you 
shall  share  it." 

"  How  share  it,  Philip  ?" 

He  did  not  reply.  He  was  resolved  to  see  Alice  Wilde 
again,  to  satisfy  himself  her  character  was  all  he  had  dreamed 
it— her  love  what  lie  hoped  ;  if  so,  nothing  should  tempt  him 
from  the  fulfillment  of  the  sweet  promise  he  had  made  himself 
and  her — neither  gratitude  to  the  dead  nor  sympathy  with  the 
living. 


A    CHARMING    PUZZLE.  7T 


CHAPTER     X . 

RECONCILIATION. 

ALICE  WILDE  bad  been  taught  by  ber  father  to  "read, 
write,  and  cipher,"  and  was  not  ignorant  of  the  rudiments  of 
some  of  the  sciences ;  for,  curiously  enough,  considering  sur- 
raunding  circumstances,  there  was  quite  a  little  library  of 
books  at  the  cabin-home,  and  some  old-fashioned  school-books 
among  the  number.  If,  when  she  first  went  into  the  seminary 
at  Center  City,  some  of  the  young  ladies  were  disposed  to 
ridicule  her  extreme  ignorance  upon  some  matters,  they  would 
be  surprised  by  superior  knowledge  upon  others ;  and  finally 
were  content  to  let  her  assert  her  own  individuality,  and  be, 
what  she  was — a  puzzle ;  a  charming  puzzle,  too,  for  her 
kindness  and  sweetness  made  her  beauty  so  irresistible  that 
they  could  look  upon  it  without  envy.  Another  thing  which 
helped  her  along  both  with  teachers  and  pupils  was  the  excel 
lence  of  her  wardrobe  and  her  lavish  supply  of  pocket-money, 
for  it  is  tolerably  well  known  that  the  glitter  of  gold  conceals 
a  great  many  blemishes.  Before  the  first  term  was  over  she 
was  the  praise,  the  wonder,  and  the  pet  of  the  school ;  flying 
rumors  of  her  great  beauty  and  her  romantic  "belongings" 
having  even  winged  their  way  over  the  pickets  which  senti 
neled  the  seminary  grounds,  and  wandered  into  the  city. 

The  evening  that  Philip  Moore  reached  home,  after  his 
eastern  journey,  chanced  to  be  the  same  as  that  upon  which 
the  seminary  began  its  annual  exhibition,  previous  to  closing 
for  the  long  August  holiday.  He  would  not  have  thought  of 
attending  any  tiling  so  tiresome;  but,  taking  tea  with  his 
partner,  whose  pretty  wife  was  going  and  urged  him  to  ac 
company  them,  he  was  persuaded  against  his  inclination. 

"  As  you  are  already  spoken  of  for  mayor,  Raymond,  and 
as  I  am  one  of  the  city  fathers,  I  suppose  w8  must  show  a 
becoming  interest  in  all  the  various  '  institutions'  which  do 


78  ALICE    WILDE. 

honor  to  our  rising  town,1'  laughed  Philip,  as  ho  consented  t( 
attend  with  his  friends. 

"  It  will  be  very  encouraging,  especially  to  the  young  ladies, 
to  see  your  wise  and  venerable  countenance  beaming  upon 
them,"  remarked  Raymond. 

"But  really,  Mr.  Moore,  there's  somebody  there  wortli 
seeing,  I'm  told— somebody  quite  above  the  average  of  blue- 
ribbon  and  white-muslin  beauty.  I've  heard  all  kinds  of 
romantic  stories  about  her,  but  I  haven't  seen  her  yet,"  chatted 
the  young  wife.  "  She's  the  daughter  of  a  fisherman,  I  be 
lieve,  who's  grown  enormously  rich  selling  salmon  and  white- 
fish,  and  who's  very  proud  of  her.  Or  else  she's  an  Indian 
princess  whose  father  dug  up  a  crock  of  buried  gold— or 
something  out  of  the  common  way,  nobody  knows  just  what." 

Philip's  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  "  Could  it  be  ?"  he  ask 
ed  himself.  "  No — hardly— and  yet" — he  was  now  as  anxious 
to  be  "  bored "  by  the  stupid  exhibition  as  he  had  hitherto 
been  to  escape  it. 

They  took  seats  early  in  the  hall,  and  had  leisure  to  look 
about  them.  Philip  bowed  to  acquaintances  here  and  there. 
After  a  time  he  began  to  feel  unpleasantly  conscious  of  some 
spell  fastening  upon  him— some  other  influence  than  his  own 
will  magnetizing  his  thoughts  and  movements,  until  he  was 
compelled  to  look  toward  a  remote  part  of  the  room,  where, 
in  the  shadow  of  a  pillar,  he  saw  two  burning  eyes  fixed  upon 
him.  The  face  was  so  much  in  the  shade  that  he  could  not 
distinguish  it  for  some  time ;  but  the  eyes,  glowing  and  steady 
as  those  of  a  rattlesnake,  seemed  to  pierce  him  through  and 
transfix  him.  He  looked  away,  and  tried  to  appear  indifferent, 
yet  his  own  eyes  would  keep  wandering  back  to  those  singular 
and  disagreeable  ones.  At  last  he  made  out  the  face:  it  was 
that  of  the  young  man  who  had  brought  him  down  from 
Wilde's  mill  the  last  autumn.  What  was  Ben  Perkins  doing 
in  such  a  place  as  this  ?  He  began  to  feel  certain  who  the 
mysterious  pupil  was. 

"She  has  thought  to  please  and  surprise  me,"  he  mused; 
"  yet  I  believe  I  would  rather  she  would  have  kept  herself 
just  as  unsophisticated  as  she  was,  until  she  learned  the 
world  under  my  tutelage." 

Young  ladies  came  on  to  the  stage,  there  was  music  and 


TIII;  school,  KXfin;rriox.»  79 

reading — but  Philip  was  deaf,  for  she  was  not  amid  the  grace 
ful  throng. 

At  last  she  came.  His  own  timid  wild-flower,  his  fawn  of 
the  forest,  stole  out.  into  the  presence  of  all  those  eyes.  A 
murmur  of  admiration  could  be  heard  throughout  the  hall. 
She  blushed,  yet  she  was  self-possessed.  Philip  gazed  at  her 
in  astonishment.  Her  dress,  of  the  richest  blue  silk,  the 
flowers  on  her  breast  and  in  her  hair,  the  bow,  the  step,  the 
little  personal  adornments,  were  all  a  la  mode.  His  wood 
land  sylph  had  been  transformed  into  a  modern  young  lady. 
He  was  almost  displeased — and  yet  she  was  so  supremely  fair, 
such  a  queen  amid  the  others,  that  she  looked  more  lovely 
than  ever.  He  wondered  if  everybody  had  been  teaching  her 
how  beautiful  she  was.  There  was  nothing  of  coquetry  or 
vanity  in  her  looks— but  a  pride,  cold  and  starry,  which  was 
entirely  new  to  her. 

He  turned  to  look  at  Ben  Perkins,  who  had  leaned  forward 
into  the  light  so  that  his  face  was  plainly  visible ;  and  the 
suspicions  he  had  often  entertained  that  the  youth  loved  Alice 
were  confirmed  by  his  expression  at  that  moment. 

"  Poor  boy !  how  can  he  help  it  ?"  thought  the  proud  and 
happy  gentleman,  regarding  the  untaught  lumberman  with  a 
kind  of  generous  compassion.  He  now  saw  that  Mr.  Wilde 
was  sitting  by  Ben's  side,  his  heart  and  eyes  also  fixed  upon 
the  stage. 

"I've  seen  that  face  before,"  whispered  Mr.  Raymond; 
"  where  was  it  ?  Ah,  I  remember  it  well,  now.  I  can  tell 
you  who  she  is,  Philip.  She's  the  daughter  of  Captain  Wilde, 
that  queer  customer  of  ours,  who  hails  from  the  upper  country. 
She's  a  glorious,  remarkable  girl !  By  the  way,  Phil.,  did  you 
flirt  with  her  ?  Because  I've  a  message  for  you.  Capt.  Wilde 
told  me  to  inform  you  that  if  you  ever  set  foot  on  his  premises 
again  he  should  consider  himself  at  liberty  to  shoot  you." 

"  Flirt  with  her !  let  me  tell  you,  Raymond,  I'm  engaged 
to  her,  and  intend  to  marry  her  just  as  soon  as  I  can  persuade 
her  to  set  a  day.  I  love  her  as  deeply  as  I  honor  her. 
There's  something  gone  wrong,  somewhere,  or  her  father 
would  not  have  left  such  word — he's  a  stern,  high-tempered 
man,  but  he  does  not  threaten  lightly.  They  could  not  havo 
received  mv  letters." 


80  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  I  presume  I  made  part  of  the  mischief  myself,"  confessed 
Rajnnond,  "  for  almost  the  first  thing  I  told  them  when  they 
entered  my  store  this  spring,  was,  that  you  had  gone  off  to 
marry  your  elegant  cousin.  You  needn't  look  so  provoked, 
PhD. ;  I  told  them  in  good  faith.  You  used  to  love  Virginia 
in  the  days  when  you  confided  in  me ;  and  if  you'd  have  kept 
up  your  confidence,  as  you  should,  I  would  have  been  posted, 
and  could  have  given  your  friends  all  the  information  they 
were  in  search  of.  Don't  you  see  'twas  your  own  fault  ?" 

"  I  suppose  it  was,"  replied  Philip,  with  a  smile,  but  still 
feeling  uneasy,  and  oh,  how  intensely  anxious  to  get  where  he 
could  whisper  explanations  to  the  heart,  which  he  now  saw, 
had  suffered  more  in  his  absence  than  he  could  have  dreamed. 
Henceforth  his  eyes  were  fixed  only  upon  Alice.  Soon  she 
perceived  him ;  as  their  eyes  met,  she  grew  pale  for  a  moment, 
and  then  went  on  with  her  part  more  calmly  than  ever.  To 
him,  it  seemed  as  if  they  both  were  acting  a  part ;  as  if  they 
hacl  no  business  in  that  hour,  to  be  anywhere  but  by  each 
other's  side ;  he  did  not  even  know  what  share  she  had  in  the 
performances,  except  that  once  she  sung,  and  her  voice,  full, 
sweet,  melancholy,  the  expression  of  the  love-song  she  was 
singing,  seemed  to  be  asking  of  him  why  ho  had  been  so  cruel 
to  her. 

The  two  hours  of  the  exercises  dragged  by.  The  people 
arose  to  go ;  Philip  crowded  forward  toward  the  stage,  but 
Alice  hacl  disappeared.  He  lingered,  and  presently,  when  she 
thought  the  hall  was  vacated,  she  came  back  to  see  if  her 
father  had  waited  to  Speak  with  her.  He  was  there ;  other 
parties  were  scattered  about,  relatives  of  the  pupils,  who  wished 
to  speak  with  them  or  congratulate  them.  She  did  not  see 
him,  but  hurried  down  the  aisle  to  where  her  father  and  Ben 
were  standing.  She  looked  pale  and  fatigued — all  the  pride 
had  gone  out  of  her  air  as  the  color  had  gone  out  of  her 
cheek. 

"  Alice !  dear  Alice !"  exclaimed  Philip,  pressing  to  her 
side,  just  as  she  reached  her  father. 

Instantly  she  turned  toward  him  with  haughty  calmness. 

"  Mr.  Moore.  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you.  Was  that 
your  bride  sitting  by  your  side  during  the  exercises." 

"  That  was  Mrs.  Raymond,  my  partner's  wife.     But  what  a 


THE    LETTER.  81 

strange  question  for  you  to  ask,  Alice.  I  supposed  you  had 
consented  to  take  that  name,  if  ever  any  one.  Mr.  Wilde,  I 
received  your  message  through  Mr.  Raymond,  but  I  knew  you 
were  once  too  sincere  a  friend  of  mine,  and  are  always  too 
honorable  a  man,  to  refuse  me  a  chance  of  explanation." 

"  Say  your  say,"  was  the  raftsman's  curt  repty. 

"  You  need  not  speak  one  word,  Philip.  It  is  I  who  ought 
to  beg  your  forgiveness,  that  I  have  wronged  you  by  doubting 
you.  Love— oh,  love,  should  never  doubt — never  be  deceiv 
ed  !"  exclaimed  Alice. 

"  It  would  have  taken  much  to  have  disturbed  my  faith  in 
you,  Alice." 

"  Because  I  had  every  motive  for  loving  you ;  while  you — 
you  had  pride,  prejudice,  rank,  fashion,  every  thing  to  struggle 
against  in  choosing  me." 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Philip.  "  Yes,  every  thing,  to  be  sure  !" 
and  he  cast  such  an  expressive  glance  over  her  youthful  love 
liness  that  she  blushed  with  the  delicious  consciousness  of  her 
own  charms.  "Old,  ugly,  awkward,  and  ignorant,  how 
ashamed  I  shall  be  of  my  wife  !" 

"  But,  Philip !"  her  tearful  eyes,  with  the  smiles  flashing 
through  them,  made  the  rest  of  her  excuses  for  her. 

Holding  her  hand,  which  was  all  the  caress  the  presence  of 
strangers  would  permit,  Philip  turned  to  the  raftsman. 

"  I  asked  you  for  your  daughter's  hand,  in  the  letter  which 
I  sent  you  on  the  return  of  the  young  man  who  brought  me 
from  your  home,  last  autumn,  since  your  sudden  change  of 
plans  prevented  my  asking  you  in  person.  I  have  not  yet 
had  your  answer." 

When  he  said  "letter"  Alice's  eyes  turned  to  Ben,  who  had 
been  standing  within  hearing  all  this  time ;  he  met  her  ques 
tioning  look  now  with  one  of  stubborn  despair. 

"  You  gave  us  no  letters,  Ben." 

Philip  also  turned,  and  the  angry  blood  rushed  into  his  face. 

"  Did  you  not  deliver  the  letters  I  sent  by  you,  young  man  ?" 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  no,  by  thunder,  I  didn't !  Did  you  think 
a  man  was  such  a  fool  as  to  help  put  the  halter  round  his 
own  neck  ?  I  didn't  give  the  letters,  but  I  told  all  the  lies  I 
could  to  hurt  you,  Philip  Moore.  You  ought  to  be  a  dead 
man  now,  by  good  rights.  The  game's  not  up  yet.  Let  me 


88  ALICE    WILDE.        '. 

tell  you  that !"  and  scowling  at  the  party,  he  strode  away 
into  the  night 

"  He  ought  to  be  arrested— he  is  a  dangerous  fellow,"  said 
Mr.  Wilde,  looking  after  him  uneasily. 

"I  am  sorry  for  him,"  said  Philip,  "but  that  can  do  him 
no  good." 

"  Look  out  for  him,  Philip  ;  you  can  not  be  too  wary — he 
will  kill  you  if  he  gets  a  chance.  Oh,  how  much  trouble  that 
desperate  boy  lias  given  mo.  I  can  not  be  happy  while  I 
know  he  is  about." 

'•  Thar',  thar',  child,  don't  you  go  to  getting  nervous  again. 
We'll  take  care  of  Ben.  Don't  you  trouble  your  head  about 
him." 

"  If  you  could  guess  what  I  have  suffered  this  winter  past," 
whispered  Alice,  pressing  closer  to  her  lover. 

"  My  poor  little  forest-fawn,"  he  murmured.  "  But  we  must 
stop  talking  here;  eavesdroppers  are  gathering  about.  I 
suppose  this  ogre  of  a  seminary  will  shut  you  up  to-night ; 
but  where  shall  I  see  you  to-morrow,  and  how  early  ?  I  have 
yet  to  explain  my  absence  to  you  and  your  father— and  I'm 
eager,  oh,  so  eager  to  talk  of  the  future  as  well  as  the  past." 

"  Meet  us  at  the  Hotel  Washington,  at  my  room,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Wilde,  speaking  for  her.  "  We  will  be  there  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  And  now  good-night,  puss.  You 
did  bravely  to-night.  I'm  going  to  see  Philip  safe  home,  so 
you  needn't  dream  of  accidents." 

Alice  kissed  her  father  good-night.  That  she  wanted  to 
kiss  his  companion  too,  and  that  he  wanted  to  have  her,  was 
evident  from  the  lingering  looks  of  both;  but  people  were 
looking  askance  at  them,  and  their  reluctant  hands  were 
obliged  to  part. 

T-hat  night  the  store  of  Raymond  &  Moore  was  discovered 
to  be  on  fire ;  the  flames  were  making  rapid  headway  when 
the  alarm  was  given ;  it  was  the  hour  of  night  when  sleep  is 
soundest,  but  the  alarm  spread,  and  persons  were  thundering 
at  the  door  and  windows  in  two  minutes. 

"Does  any  one  sleep  in  the  store?"  shouted. one. 

"  Yes !  yes !  young  Moore  himself— he  has  a  room  at  the  back." 

"Why  don't  he  come  out  then?  He'll  be  burned  alive. 
Burst  in  the  doors.  Let  us  see  wiiat  has  happened  him." 


FIRE  !    FIRE  !  00 

"  The  fire  seems  to  come  from  that  part  of  the  building. 
He  will  surely  perish." 

The  crowd  shouted,  screamed,  battered  the  doors  in  wild 
excitement — some  ran  round  to  the  back,  and  a  ladder  was 
placed  at  the  window  of  his  room,  which  was  in  the  second 
story.  Light  shone  from  that  room.  David  Wilde,  whose 
hotel  was  not  far  distant,  mingling  with  others  who  rushed 
out  at  the  alarm,  as  is  the  custom  in  provincial  towns,  was  the 
first  to  place  his  foot  upon  the  ladder ;  his  strength  was  great, 
and  he  broke  in  the  sash  with  a  stroke  of  his  fist,  leaped  into 
the  building,  appearing  in  a  moment  with  the  young  man, 
whom  he  handed  down  to  the  firemen  clambering  up  the 
ladder  after  him. 

"  He's  nigh  about  suffocated  with  the  smoke — that's  all. 
Dash  water  on  him,  and  he'll  be  all  right  presently,"  he  cried 
to  those  who  pressed  about.  "  It's  that  Ben,  I  know— cuss 
me,  if  I  don't  believe  the  boy's  crazy,"  he  muttered  to 
himself. 

Philip  soon  shook  off  the  stupor  which  had  so  nearly 
resulted  in  the  -most  horrible  of  deaths,  and  was  able  to  help 
others  in  rescuing  his  property.  The  fire  was  got  under  with 
out  much  loss  to  the  building,  though  its  contents  suffered 
from  smoke  and  water.  The  young  firm  was  not  discouraged 
by  this,  as  all  loss  was  covered  by  insurance ;  they  had  the 
promise  of  a  busy  time  "getting  to  rights"  again,  but  that  was 
the  worst. 

It  was  apparent,  upon  examination,  that  the  fire  was  tne 
Avork  of  an  incendiary ;  Philip  felt,  in  his  heart,  what  the  guilty 
intention  was,  and  shuddered  at  his  narrow  escape.  It  was 
decided  by  him  and  Mr.  "Wilde  to  put  the  authorities  upon  the 
proper  track ;  but  the  perpetrator  had  fled,  and  no  clue  could 
be  got  to  him  in  the  city.  Mr.  Wilde  at  once  suspected  he 
had  gone  up  the  river,  and  feeling  that  they  should  have  no 
peace  until  he  was  apprehended,  and  not  knowing  what  mis 
chief  he  might  do  at  the  mill,  he  took  the  sheriff  with  him  and 
started  for  home,  leaving  Alice,  for  the  present,  at  the  school, 
with  permission  of  the  principal  to  sec  her  friends  \yheu  she 
chose,  as  it  was  now  vacation.  Before  he  left  there  was  a 
long  consultation  between  the  three — Philip,  Alice,  and  her 
father.  Philip  explained  his  absence.  As  he  went  on  to 


84  ALICE    WILDE. 

speak  of  Mortimer  Moore  and  his  daughter,  of  his  death,  the 
troubled  state  of  the  family  affairs,  etc.,  the  raftsman  betrayed 
a  keener  interest  than  his  connection  with  those  affairs  would 
seem  to  warrant. 

"  Poor  Virginia !  she  is  all  alone,  and  she  is  your  cousin, 
Philip,"  said  Alice. 

"  She  tried  hard  to  get  back  her  old  power  over  me,  Alice. 
You  must  beware  how  you  compassionate  her  too  much. 
But  when  we  are  married,  and  have  a  home  of  our  own,  we 
will  share  it  with  her,  if  you  consent.  I've  no  doubt  she  can 
find  somebody  worthy  of  her,  even  in  this  savage  West,  as  she 
thinks  it.  And,  by  the  way,  I  think  we  ought  to  get  a  home 
of  our  own  as  soon  as  possible,  in  order  to  have  a  shelter  to 
offer  my  cousin — don't  you,  Alice  ?" 

"  She's  tongue-tied.  Girls  always  lose  their  tongues  when 
they  need  'em  the  most." 

"  Now,  father,  I  should  think  you  might  answer  for  me," 
said  Alice,  trying  to  raise  her  eyes,  but  blushes  and  confusion 
would  get  the  better  of  her,  and  she  took  refuge  in  her  fa 
ther's  lap. 

"  Well,  puss,  I  s'pose  you  want  to  go  to  school  five  or  six 
years  yet — tell  him  you've  made  your  cacklations  to  keep  in 
school  till  you're  twenty -two." 

"  School !     I'll  be  your  teacher,"  said  Philip. 

"  Choose  for  yourself,  puss.  I  s'pose  the  sooner  you  shake 
off  yer  old  father,  the  better  you'll  like  it." 

"  I  shan't  shake  you  off,  father.  Neither  shall  I  leave  you 
alone  up  there  in  the  woods.  That  matter  must  be  settled  at 
the  start.  I  shall  never  marry,  father,  to  desert  you,  or  be  an 
ungrateful  child." 

"  Suppose  we  arrange  it  this  wray  then.  We  will  live  with 
your  father  in  the  summer,  and  he  shall  live  with  us  in  the 
winter.  I  don't  want  a  prettier  place  than  Wilde's  mill  to 
spend  my  summers  in." 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  delightful,"  exclaimed  the  young  girl ; 
and  then  she  blushed  more  deeply  than  ever  at  having  be 
trayed  her  pleasure. 

"  Then  don't  keep  me  in  suspense  any  longer,  but  tell  me 
if  you  will  get  ready  to  go  back  to  New  York  with  me  in  the 
latter  part  of  September.  We  will  be  gone  but  a  few  weeks, 


THE    DAY    SETTLED.  85 

and  can  be  settled  in  the  new  mansion   I've  given  orders  for, 
before  the  winter  is  here.     Shall  it  be  so  ?" 

"  Say  '  yes,1  cubbie,  and  done  with  it,  as  long  as  you  don't 
intend  to  say  '  no.'  I  see  she  wants  to  say  '  yes,'  Mr.  Moore, 
and  since  it's  got  to  be,  the  sooner  the  suspense  is  over,  the 
better  I'll  like  it ;"  and  with  a  great  sigh,  the  raftsman  kissed 
the  forehead  of  his  child  and  put  her  hand  in  that  of  Philip. 
With  that  act  he  had  given  away  to  another  the  most 
cherished  of  his  possessions.  But  children  never  realize  the 
pang  which  rends  the  parent  heart,  when  they  leave  the 
parent  nest  and  fly  to  new  bowers.  "  All  I  shall  be  good  for 
now,  will  be  to  keep  you  in  spending-money,  I  s'pose.  You're 
going  to  marry  a  fashionable  young  man,  you  know,  cubbie, 
and  he'll  want  you  tricked  out  in  the  last  style.  How  much 
can  you  spend  before  I  get  back  ?"  and  he  pulled  his  leather 
money-bag  out  of  his  pocket, 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea,  father." 

"  Sure  enough,  you  haven't.  You'll  have  to  keep  count  of 
the  dollars,  when  you  get  her,  Mr.  Moore ;  for  ncVer  having 
been  indulged  in  the  pastime  of  her  sex,  going  a-shopping,  she 
won't  know  whether  she  ought  to  spend  ten  dollars  or  a 
hundred.  Like  as  not,  she'll  get  a  passion  for  the  pretty 
amusement,  to  pay  for  having  been  kept  back  in  her  infancy. 
You'd  better  get  some  of  your  women  Mends  to  go  'long  with 
you,  puss.  Here's,  then,  for  the  beginning."  He  poured  a 
handful  or  more  of  gold  into  her  lap. 

"  Nay,  Mr.  Wilde,  you  need  not  indulge  her  in  any  thing 
.  beyond  your  means,  upon  my  account,  for — although  she  may 
have  to  conform  to  more  modern  fashions,  as  she  has  already 
clone,  since  moving  among  others  who  do — she  will  never  look 
so  lovely  to  me  in  any  other  dress,  as  in  those  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  ones  she  wore  when  I  learned  to  love  her.  And 
Alice,  whatever  other  pretty  things  you  buy  or  make,  I  request 
vou  to  be  married  in  a  costume  made  precisely  like  that  you 
wore  last  summer — will  you  ?" 

The  raftsman  heard,  two  or  three  times,  on  his  way  up  the 
river,  from  boatmen  whom  he  hailed,  of  Ben's  having  been 
seen  only  a  little  way  ahead  of  him,  and  he,  with  the  sheriff, 
had  little  doubt  but  they  should  capture  him  immediately  upon 
their  arrival  at  Wilde's  mill.  But  upon  reaching  their  desti- 


80  ALICE    WILDE. 

nation  they  could  not  find  hifn.  The  men  had  seen  him 
hovering  about  the  mill,  and  Pallas  had  given  him  his  dinner 
onjy  a  few  hours  before,  when  he  came  to  the  house,  looking, 
as  she  said,  "like  a  hungry  wild  beas',  snatching  what  I 
give  him  and  trotting  off  to  de  woods  agin." 

Help  was  summoned  from  the  mill  and  the  woods  scoured ; 
but  no  farther  trace  of  the  fugitive  could  be  discovered.  They 
kept  up  the  search  for  a  week,  when  the  sheriff  was  obliged 
to  return.  David  Wilde  wished  to  believe,  with  the  officer, 
that  Ben  had  fled  the  country  and  gone  off  to  distant  parts ; 
but  he  could  not  persuade  himself  to  that  effect.  He  still  felt 
as  if  the  unseen  enemy  was  somewhere  near.  However, 
nothing  further  could  be  done ;  so  cautioning  the  house-serv 
ants  to  keep  a  good  watch  over  the  premises,  and  the  mill- 
hands  to  see  that  the  property  was  not  fired  at  night,  or  other 
mischief  done,  he  returned  for  his  daughter. 

"  Give  Pallas  this  new  dress  to  be  made  up  for  the  occasion, 
and  tell  her  to  be  swift  in  her  preparations,  for  the  time  is 
short.  It  will  be  a  month,  Alice,  before  I  see  you  again — a 
whole,  long  month— and  then  I  hope  for  no  more  partings. 
I  shall  bring  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  to  the  wedding,  with 
your  permission,"  said  Philip,  with  other  parting  words,  which 
being  whispered  we  can  not  relate,  as  he  placed  her  on  the 
sail-boat,  well  laden  down  with  boxes  and  bales  containing 
the  necessary  "  dry-goods  and  groceries "  for  the  fete. 

"  We'll  charter  a  steam-tug  next  time,"  growled  the  rafts 
man,  looking  about  him  on  the  various  parcels. 


PALLAS   IN    HER    GLORY.  87 


CHAPTER    XI. 

A    MEETING    IN    THE    WOODS. 

PALLAS  was  in  "  her  elements."  There's  nothing  a  genu 
ine  cook  likes  so  well  as  to  be  given  carte  UancJie  for  a  wed 
ding.  If  the  Wildes  had  invited  a  hundred  guests  to  stop 
with  them  a  fortnight,  she  would  hardly  have  increased  the 
measure  of  her  preparations.  No  wonder  the  old  soul  was 
happy  in  the  prospect  of  the  really  excellent  match  her  dar 
ling  was  to  make,  as  well  as  in  the  promise  that  she  was  to 
go  with  her  and  take  the  culinary  department  of  the  new 
household  under  her  charge. 

"  We's  goin'  to  lib  soon  whar'  de  clo'es  massa  gives  us  '11 
do  us  some  good,  Saturn.  We  can  go  to  meetin'  once  more 
like  'spectable  colored  quality  should.  An'  de  house  '11  be 
bran  new,  and  I'm  to  keep  de  keys  of  all  de  closets  myself— 
and  young  missus  will  set  at  de  head  ob  de  table,  wid  plenty 
of  silber,  as  my  missuses  have  allers  done.  An'  you'll  hs,ve 
to  have  some  pride  about  you,  and  get  ober  bein'  so  sleepy. 
Nebber  hear  nor  see  any  ting  so  cur'us  as  we  goin'  back  into 
dat  berry  family.  Now,  Saturn,  don't  you  let  me  cotch  you 
cookin'  or  eatin'  a  single  egg,  'cause  I  want  'em  all  for  cake. 
Masser  only  brought  home  twenty  dozen,  which  ain't  near 
enough.  I  want  ebery  one  clem  pullets  lays*  An'  you  feed 
em  chickens  up  good  and  fat  an'  deni  wild  turkeys  in  de 
pen.  Dis  isn't  a  bad  country  for  a  cook,  arter  all.  I've  been 
reck'nin'  up,  an'  I  find  we  can  have  wild  turkey  and  par 
tridges  and  salmon  and  ven'sen  and  chicken,  and  masser's 
brought  home  ebery  ting  from  de  grocery-stores  a  pusson 
could  ask.  Whar's  dat  citron  now  ?  Saturn,  has  you  been 
;n  dat  citron  ?  Laws,  I  cotch  you  in  dat,  you'll  nebber  forget 
it !  Stop  eatin'  clem  raisins  !  I  cleclar'  to  gracious,  ef  I  trus' 
you  to  chop  a  few  raisins  for  me,  you  eat  half  of  'em  up. 
Cl'ar  out  de  kitchen — immejcfly !  I'd  rudder  get  'long  alone," 


88  ALICE    WILDE. 

Poor  Saturn  had  to  "  fly  round"  more  than  was  agreeable 
to  his  temperament ;  but  he  contrived  to  keep  up  his  strength 
and  his  spirits  upon  stolen  sweets,  and  he  tried  to  be  excess 
ively  useful. 

u  Wall,  wall,  his  arpetite  does  beat  all ;  he's  gettin'  ole  and 
childish,  my  nigger  is.  and  I  s'pose  I  mils'  humor  him  a  little. 
His  heart  is  set  on  de  good  tings  ob  dis  worl'  I'se  'fraid  he'll 
hate  to  gib  up  eatin'  and  sleepin'  when  he  comes  to  die.  Dar 
ain't  no  eatin'  and  drinkin'  thar,  Saturn;  no  manyin'  nor 
givin'  in  marriage." 

"  Wha'  for  ?  is  eatin'  wicked,  Pallas  ?" 

"  Not  on  dis  yearth,  where  it  is  a  necessary  evil.  But  d<w 
— dar's  better  tings.  We'll  sing  dar,  Saturn,"  she  continued, 
anxious  to  rekindle  the  religious  ardor  which  she  was  fearful 
of  cooling  by  her  picture  of  the  purely  spiritual  pleasures  of 
the  next  world.  "  We'll  set  under  de  tree  ob  life,  by  side  de 
beautiful  ribber,  and  sing  all  de  hymns  and  psalms  ;"  and  she 
struck  up,  in  a  voice  of  rich  melody, 

"  0  Canaan,  my  happy  home, 
Oh,  how  I  long  for  thee  !" 

while  her  husband  joined  in  the  strain  with  equal  fervoh 

Alice  loved  to  hear  them  singing  at  their  work  ;  not  only 
because  of  their  musical  voices,  but  the  enthusiasm,  the  joy 
and  expectation  swelling  through  them,  awakened  her  own 
young  soul  to  hope  and  prayer. 

A  happier  face  than  hers,  as  she  sat  in  the  little  parlor, 
sewing  upon  the  wedding-garments,  it  would  be  difficult  to 
find — a  kind  of  intense  radiance  from  the  utter  content  and 
love  within  shoi^e  through  her  features.  When  a  young  girl 
is  about  to  marry  the  man  she%  loves,  Avith  the  full  approval 
of  her  judgment  and  conscience,  the  consent  of  parents  and 
friends,  when  her  heart  is  full  of  hopes,  when  she  blushes  in 
solitude  at  her  own  happy  thoughts,  as  she  sits  quietly  sewing 
upon  rich  and  delicate  fabrics  which  are  to  enhance  her 
beauty  in  his  eyes,  then  she  experiences  the  most  blessed  por 
tion  of  her  life. 

The  sunshine  of  promise  rested  upon  the  house.  All  its 
delightful  activity  was  pervaded  by  thrilling  anticipations. 
And  yet  there  was  a  shadow — a  light  shadow,  which  at  times 


A    GHOST    IN    THE    WOODS.  89 

would  darken  and  again  entirely  disappear.  It  was  the  dread 
of  Ben.  The  men  at  the  mill  reported  having  caught  glimpses 
of  some  one  whom  they  were  quite  sure  was  him,  at  different 
times,  in  different  lonely  places  in  the  forest. 

Saturn  came  in,  one  clay,  with  the  whites  of  his  eyes  of 
frightful  circumference,  averring  that  a  ghost  had  run  after 
him  in  the  woods.  What  could  be  the  purpose  of  a  person 
thus  hovering  about  in  concealment?  surely  nothing  good. 
Alice  was  not  herself,  personally,  much  afraid.  She  did  not 
think  Ben  would  harm  her,  but  she  felt  that  he  was  hanging 
about,  that  his  eyes  watched  every  preparation,  that  he  would 
know  when  Philip  came,  and  she  was  afraid  he  would  have 
another  opportunity  to  attempt  his  life.  The  courage  which 
would  not  quail  on  the  battle-field  will  fail  before  a  secret  and 
unknown  evil.  Even  the  raftsman,  brave  and  powerful  as  he 
was,  felt  that  uneasiness  which  springs  from  such  a  source. 
Many  a  time  he  went  out  with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  re 
solved  that  if  he  met  with  the  wretched  and  desperate  youth, 
he  would  deal  with  him  severely.  His  search  was  always  in 
vain.  Alice  gave  up  all  her  rambles,  much  as  she  longed  to 
get  again  into  the  heart  of  the  whispering  pine-forest. 

One  afternoon,  when  her  father  was  at  the  mill,  and  Pallas, 
as  usual,  busy  in  the  kitchen,  as  she  sat  sewing  and  singing 
to  herself  in  a  low  voice,  the  bright  room  suddenly  grew  dark, 
and  looking  up  at  the  open  window,  she  saw  Ben  standing  there 
gazing  at  her.  If  she  had  not  known  of  his  vicinity,  she 
would  not  have  recognized  him  at  the  first  glance  ;  his  face 
was  haggard,  his  eyes  bloodshot,  his  hair  long  and  tangled,  his 
clothing  soiled  and  worn. 

"  Don't  scream  !"  he  begged,  as  he  saw  that  she  perceived 
him,  in  a  voice  so  hollow  that  it  checked  the  cry  rising  to  her 
lips.  "  I  ain't  going  to  harm  you.  I  wouldn't  harm  a  hair 
of  your  head — not  to  save  the  neck  yer  so  anxious  to  see 
hanging  from  the  gallows.  I  know  where  your  father  is,  and 
I  just  crept  up  to  have  a  look  at  you.  You  look  happy  and 
content,  Alice  Wilde.  See  me  !  how  do  you  like  your 
work  ?" 

"  It  is  not  my  work,  Ben,  and  you  know  it.  Do  not  blame 
me.  I  pity  you  ;  I  pray  for  you.  But  do  go  away  from 
here — do  P.-O  !  I  would  rather  you  would  harm  me  than 


90  ALICE    WILDE. 

to  harm  those  I  love.  Oh,  if  you  really  care  for  me,  go  away 
from  this  spot — leave  me  to  my  happiness,  and  try  and  be 
happy  yourself.  Be  a  man.  Go,  Ben — let  us  alone.  If  you 
do  not  go,  you  will  certainly  be  taken  by  others,  and  perhaps 
punished." 

"  Catch  a  weasel  asleep,  but  you  can't  catch  me.  You  may 
put  twenty  men  on  the  watch.  How  p'easant  it  must  be  for 
you  to  sit  here  making  your  weddin'-clothes  ;  I  Uiink  of  it 
nights,  as  I  lay  on  the  hemlock  boughs,  with  my  eyes  wide 
open,  staring  up  at  the  stars.  What's  that  song  I  used  to 
like  to  hear  you  sing  so  well,  Alice  ? 

"  '  They  made  her  a  grave  too  cold  and  damp 

For  a  soul  so  warm  and  true  ; 
And  she's  gone  to  the  lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp, 
Where,  all  night  long,  by  the  fire-fly  lamp, 

She  paddles  her  light  canoe.'  " 

The  maiden  shuddered  to  her  heart's  core  as  his  voice  rose 
wild  and  mournful  in  the  sweet  tune  to  which  the  ballad  was 
set.  "  Ha  !  ha  !  Alice,  it's  the  same  little  canoe  that  you  used 
to  come  up  to  the  mill  in  so  often,  in  those  pleasant  old 
times — 

"  '  And  her  fire-fly  lamp  I  soon  shall  see, 

Her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear  ; 
Long  and  loving  our  life  shall  be, 
And  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress-tree, 
When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near.'  " 

Alice  seemed  to  be  listening  to  her  own  dirge ; 


"  '  Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he 

His  path  was  rugged  and  sore  : 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds, 
And  man  never  trod  before  !'  " — 

and  with  an  unearthly  shriek  he  bounded  away  through  the 
garden  and  into  the  woods,  leaving  Alice  so  overcome,  that 
Pallas,  who  had  been  attracted  to  the  door  by  the  strange 
voice,  brought  her  the  "  camfire"  bottle  to  restore  her. 

"  He's  a  ravin'  maniac,  that  poor  boy  is,  my  chile.  He 
ought  to  be  cotch'd  and  put  in  de  'sylum  at  onct  'fore  harm's 
done.  Mercy,  chile,  I  was  jus'  goin'  to  take  down  de  rifle  to 
'fend  my  pickaninny.  I  was  'fraid  he'd  far  you  all  to  pieces, 
like  a  ragin'  wild  beas'." 


THE    PATHOL    GUARD.  91 

"  You  wouldn't  have  had  courage  to  fire,  would  you  ?  I'm 
sure  I  shouldn't." 

"  In  course  I  should  have  had  courage.  S'pose  I'd  stun' 
by  and  see  my  chile  toted  off  into  the  woods  by  a  madman  ? 
Tush !  even  a  hen  '11  fight  for  her  chickens.  Ef  I  hadn't  a 
rifle,  I'd  spring  on  'em,  tooth  and  nail,  ef  he  laid  a  hand  on 
my  chile ;"  and  the  old  negro  woman  breathed  hard,  holding 
herself  erect,  and  looking  so  determined,  that  she  inspired 
courage  in  the  one  who  regarded  her. 

"  Then  I  shall  choose  you  for  my  body-guard,"  said  Alice, 
"  for  I  begin  to  feel  like  a  poor  little  chick  in  a  big  field,  with 
an  unseen  hawk  in  the  air  which  might  pounce  on  it  at  any 
time.  Oh,  Pallas,  didn't  lie  look  fearful  ?" 

"  Awful,  missus,  awful  !  We  can't  be  too  kerful  of  a  fan- 
atick— and  poor  Ben's  got  to  be  one,  sure  'nuff."  Poor  Ben  1 
a  year  ago  he  was  as  merry  a  37oung  pusson  as  dese  yere  ole 
eyes  car'  for  to  see ;  and  so  willin'  and  kind,  allers  lookin' 
out  to  do  a  little  sarvice,  briugin'  us  game  and  berries,  and 
makin'  us  furnitur'  and  fixin's  about  de  house, — ready  to  work 
all  day,  jus'  to  hab  you  say,  'Tank  you,  Ben,'  or  gib  him  one 
smile.  I  jes'  wish  dis  weddin'  was  safe  ober.  I  has  a  sense 
as  suthin'  is  goin'  to  happen.  And  you  know,  chile,  when 
0)3  Pallas  has  a  sense,  it  allers  conies  to  suthin'." 

"Don't  tell  me  of  it,  if  you  have,  Pallas,  for  I'm  nervous 
enough  already.  There  comes  father  now.  I  feel  safe  when 
he  is  near." 

Upon  hearing  her  account  of  Ben's  looks  and  words,  the 
raftsman  resolved  more  firmly  than  ever  to  take  him  into 
custody  if  possible.  Leaving  Pallas,  who  was  a  better  man 
than  her  husband,  with  a  double-barreled  gun,  to  defend  the 
house,  if  necessary,  in  their  absence,  he  summoned  his  full 
force  and  hunted  the  woods  for  twenty-four  hours  without 
success.  He  then  stationed  two  men  in  the  outskirts,  in  view 
of  the  house,  to  be  relieved  every  eight  hours  by  two  others, 
and  to  keep  up  the  watch,  on  double  wages,  day  and  night, 
till  the  enemy  was  taken  or  the  wedding  over. 

On  the  third  day  of  his  watch,  one  of  the  men,  while  stand 
ing  by  the  garden-fence,  eating  his  lunch,  his  rifle  leaning 
against  the  rails  beside  him,  was  suddenly  knocked  down,  and 
by  the  time  he  got  upon  his  feet  again,  he  saw  Ben  Perkins 


92  ALICE    WILDE. 

vanishing  into  the  forest  with  the  weapon  on  his  shoulder. 
The  news  of  this  mishap  was  any  thing  but  encouraging,  for 
the  chances  of  his  doing  mischief  were  increased  tenfold  by 
the  fact  of  his  having  possession  of  a  loaded  gun.  Yet  Alice 
sung  and  sewed,  praying  silently  to  Heaven  that  all  might  be 
well,  and,  happy  in  the  faith  and  hope  of  youth,  went  on  with 
her  preparations ;  and  Pallas  finished  shelves  full  of  frosted 
cake  and  other  niceties ;  and  Saturn  hewed  wood  and  brought 
water,  receiving  his  reward  as  he  went,  from  his  wife's  benev 
olent  hand ;  and  Mr.  Wilde  was  alert  and  vigilant,  ready  for 
all  emergencies. 

It  was  now  near  the  middle  of  September ;  the  blackberries 
were  gone ;  and  the  grapes  were  yet  green  and  unpalatable. 
Pallas  was  in  want  of  wild-plums  to  pickle,  and  of  wild-mint 
to  flavor  some  of  the  dressings  for  dishes  yet  to  be  cooked. 
She  set  forth  into  the  woods,  having  no  occasion  for  personal 
fears,  and  not  finding  what  she  desired,  wandered  further  into 
their  depths  than  she  had  intended.  Suddenly  she  started, 
with  a—"  Hi !  hi !  what's  this  ?" 

"  If  you've  any  thing  in  that  basket  a  starving  man  can  eat, 
give  it  to  me."  It  was  Ben  Perkins  who  spoke,  from  behind 
a  fallen  tree,  where  he  was  crouching,  lifting  his  emaciated 
face  to  her  view. 

"  I  hab  uothin'  at  all ;  and  ef  I  had,  why  should  I  gib  it  to 
you,  when  you'se  makin'  us  all  de  trouble  you  can  ?" 

"  You've  turned  against  me,  too,  Aunt  Pallas,"  he  said,  in 
so  hopeless  a  tone,  that  she  paused  from  her  purpose  of  getting 
away  as  fast  as  she  could.  "  I've  done  you  many  favors  in 
days  gone  by ;  I've  never  refused  to  lend  you  a  helpin'  hand, 
and  I've  never  done  nothin'  to  injure  you;  but  you,  too,  will 
try  to  get  me  on  to  the  gallows.  Go  and  tell  'em  where  I 
am,  if  you  want  to.  I  don't  know  as  I've  strength  to  get 
away  any  longer.  It's  a  week  sence  any  thing  has  passed  my 
lips  but  a  nest  full  of  bird's-eggs  I  climbed  up  after  yesterday. 
Say,  won't  you  bring  me  a  piece  of  bread  ?" 

"  You  go  home  wid  me,  and  behabe  yourself,  and  you  shall 
liab  all  de  bread  you  want.  Nobody's  starving  you  but  your 
self." 

"Ha!  ha!  you're  a  cute  'un,  ain't  you  now?  I  don't 
think  I  shall  put  my  foot  into  that  trap." 


A    HUNGRY    MAX.  <J3 

"  Well,  den,  you  gib  ine  dat  gun  what  you've  got  thar*. 
Gib  me  dat  gun  and  I'll  bring  you  suthin'  to  eat,  and  won't 
tell  where  you  are." 

"  No— no  !  you  can't  come  that  game." 

"  You  doesn't  s'pose  I'd  bring  you  any  ting  to  eat  or  help 
keep  you  alive,  when  you're  tryin'  yer  bes'  to  kill  my  masser's 
Men's,  do  ye  ?  It's  you  is  foolish,  Ben.  What  for  you  be  so 
bad,  so  wicked  for,  Ben  ?  You  use  to  be  a  nice  boy.  I  like 
you  berry  much  a  year  ago.  I  can't  bar'  to  'see  you  hurtin' 
yerself  so — let  alone  odders.  Come,  now,  yer  gib  me  back  dat 
gun,  an'  ac'  like  a  man  'stid  of  a  wil'  beas',  and  I'll  do  all  I 
can  for  you,  sartain  sure,  Ben." 

"  Pallas,  I  tell  you,  I'm  starving.  I  want  somethin'  to  eat. 
Let  that  gun  alone.  I  swear  to  you,  I  won't  use  it  on  any  of 
your  family.  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  Alice's  head — nor  her 
father's.  But  I  want  that  rifle— it's  none  of  your  business 
why.  Won't  ye  give  me  suthin'  to  eat,  for  the  sake  of  old 
times,  Pallas  ?" 

That  miserable,  hungry,  beseeching  look — how  could  she 
refuse  it  ? 

"You've  acted  like  a  crazy  man,  Ben,  and  you've  done 
berry  wrong  to  yourself  as  well  as  odders.  I  can't  help  you, 
'less  you  promise  to  do  better.  Gib  me  dat  gun,  and  take 
yer  Bible  oath  you'll  never  try  to  hurt  him  that's  to  be  Miss 
Alice's  husband,  an'  I'll  help  you  all  I  can." 

"  Why  should  I  promise  not  to  harm  him  ?  hasn't  he  done 
all  he  could  to  injure  me?  hadn't  I  ought  to  kill  him  if  I  can? 
wouldn't  it  be  right  and  justifiable  for  me  to  take  his  heart's 
blood  ?— as  he's  taken  mine,  but  in  a  different  way.  I  was  a 
homeless,  poor,  hard-workin'  young  man,  with  nuthin'  but 
my  hands  to  rely  on.  I  hadn't  no  education,  I  hadn't  no 
money,  but  I  loved  the  captain's  daughter — I  worshiped  her 
shadow.  She'd  have  been  mine — I  know  she  would — if  he 
hadn't  come  along  and  got  her  away  from  me.  He,  who  had 
every  thing,  came  and  robbed  me  of  the  only  thing  I  cared  to 
have.  He  used  his  education  and  his  money  and  his  fine 
ways  to  steal  my  only  hope.  As  soon  as  he  come  hangin' 
round  I  was  nuthin'— Miss  Alice  walked  right  over  me  to  get 
in  his  arms.  I  tell  ye,  that  man  has  robbed  me  and  wronged 
me  and  murdered  me,  as  it  were.  I  ought  to  be  revenged." 


94  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  You  is  wuss  den  crazy,  Ben  Perkins ;  and  I'll  tell  ye  de 
trute,  if  ye  get  as  mad  as  fire  at  me  for  it.  'Tain't  noways 
likely  my  missus  would  eber  'ave  taken  up  wid  ye,  if  Philip 
Moore  had  neber  seen  her.  She's  a  lady,  born  and  bred  ;  she 
came  of  a  high  famity— and  it  was  in  her  blood.  She  wouldn't 
neber  have  taken  up  wid  you.  She  liked  you,  and  we  all 
liked  you  ;  but  she  wouldn't  a  married  you.  You'd  no  busi 
ness  to  'spect  she  would.  It's  you  is  all  de  wrong.  Den  when 
a  young  man  what  is  suitable  to  her  comes  along,  and  can't 
no  more  help  fallin'  in  love  wid  her  sweet  face  den  you  can, 
when  he  loves  her,  and  wants  to  marry  her,  and  she  loves 
him,  as  she  naturally  would,  you  get  wicked  and  ugly,  and 
want  to  kill  him.  Fie,  man  !  you  don't  love  her !  Ef  you 
did,  you  couldn't  neber  break  her  heart,  killhig  her  husband 
as  is  to  be.  What  would  you  gain  by  it  ?  'Sticl  of  likin'  and 
pityin'  you,  she'd  shudder  to  hear  your  name,  and  she'd  wilt 
away  and  die,  and  you'd  be  her  murderer,  well  as  his.  For 
shame  !  call  dat  love  ?  Why,  ef  you  really  loved  her,  you'd 
try  to  make  her  happy,  and  seein'  you  couldn't  hab  her,  you'd 
be  glad  she  got  de  man  she  like  bes'.  You  is  a  bad  fellow, 
Ben  Perkins,  and  you  jus'  show  how  lucky  it  is  Miss  Alice 
didn't  take  up  wid  you." 

"She  thinks  I'm  so  bad,  too,  doesn't  she?— oh,  yes,  of  course 
she  must ;  she  must  hate  me,  and  wish  me  dead.  I  know  it, 
but  I  couldn't  help  it.  Oh,  Pallas,  tell  her  not  to  think  too  hard 
of  me.  I  was  never  well  brought  up.  I'd  only  my  wild  pas 
sions  to  guide  me.  I've  done  wrong  only  because  my  heart 
was  so  set  upon  her.  Yet  I've  struggled  against  temptation — 
I've  tried  to  wish  she  could  be  happy  without  me.  Tell  her, 
when  I  was  on  the  river  alone  with  Philip  Moore,  I  might 
have  put  him  out  of  the  way,  but  for  her  sake  I  wouldn't  do 
it.  Often  and  often  as  we  sat  together  in  that  little  boat, 
alone  on  the  water,  the  devil  in  my  heart  set  me  on  to  strangle 
him  and  throw  him  overboard,  I  don't  know  why  I  didn't 
do  it,  'ceptin'  it  seemed  as  if  Alice's  eyes  was  lookin'  at  me 
and  wouldn't  let  me  do  it.  One  night  he  was  asleep,  his 
head  on  his  arm,  and  I  was  bending  over  him— my  hand  was 
on  his  throat,  when  she  took  hold  of  me  and  held  me  back. 
I  seen  her  as  plain  as  I  see  you  now.  She  had  on  a  long, 
white  dress,  and  her  hair  was  streamiu'  down  her  shoulders, 


PALLAS    EXHORTS.  95 

and  her  feet  was  bare.  She  looked  at  me  so — I  couldn't  stand 
it ;  and  I  made  up  my  mind  never  to  lay  hands  on  that  per 
son  again.  And  I  felt  so  much  more  like  a  man,  I  could  look 
her  straight  in  the  face  agin,  when  I  got  back.  But  I  told 
lies,  and  tried  to  get  in  her  good  graces.  Do  you  think  that 
was  so  very  bad,  under  the  circumstances,  Aunt  Pallas  ?  I 
never  meant  to  do  nuthin'  worse ;  but  when  I  seen  all  my 
plans  knocked  in  the  head,  and  that  person  meeting  her  agin 
and  making  up,  and  she  lookin'  so  like  an  angel,  and  so  proud 
and  happy,  and  all  of  'em  casting  scornful  eyes  on  me,  the 
devil  broke  out  again  worse  'an  ever,  and  I  set  fire  to  Philip 
Moore's  store,  hopin'  to  burn  him  up;  and  since  then  I've 
been  about  as  desp'rate  as  a  man  ever  gets  to  be.  Part  the 
time  I'm  as  good  as  crazy,  I  think  such  thoughts  out  here  in 
the  woods  alone— and  agin  I'm  quite  cool  and  reflect  all  over 
my  bad  conduct.  I'd  take  it  all  back,  if  I  could,  for  her  sake ;" 
and  he  burst  out  weeping. 

"  Yer  poor,  mis'able  soul,  I  pity  you.  But  I  mus'  say  you 
did  wrong.  'Tain't  too  late  to  repent  and  be  saved.  Gib  up 
all  dose  wil',  wicked  feelin's,  be  resigned  to  de  will  ob  Provi 
dence  which  doesn't  allow  of  your  having  the  girl  you  happen 
to  love  fust.  'Tain't  for  us  to  hab  all  we  want  in  dis  yere 
woiT.  'Tain't  for  us  to  revenge  our  enemies.  Chris'  says  do 
good  to  clem  dat  despitefully  use  yer.  And  nobody  has  used 
you  bad.  He  says  love  your  enemies.  O  Ben !  Ben !  ef, 
instid  of  bein'  de  wicked  bein'  you  has,  you  had  prayed  to  de 
Lord  Jesus  to  sabe  yer  from  temptation,  and  sence  yer  couldn't 
be  happy  in  dis  life,  to  make  yer  good,  yer  wouldn't  be  hidin' 
here  in  dis  state.  People  has  had  troubles  'fore  yer.  Don't 
tink  yer  dc  only  one,  poor  boy.  Dar's  plenty  of  tears  for 
Chris'  to  wipe  a'.-vay  on  dis  yearth." 

"  I  don't  know  nuthin  about  it.  I've  never  been  taughf 
'Tain't  nateral  for  a  man  to  love  his  enemies.  I  can't  do  it. 
But  if  I  thought  you'd  pity  me  and  pray  for  me — if  I  thought 
Miss  Alice  would  pray  for  me,  I'd  give  up  wicked  thoughts, 
and  try  to  govern  myself." 

"  She  does  pray  for  yer,  Ben,  wid  all  her  heart  every  time 
she  prays.  I've  seen  her  cry  about  yer  many  time.  She'd 
gib  her  right  hand  mos',  to  hab  you  good  and  happy.  Masser's 
sorry  for  yer,  too ;  he  tought  so  much  of  you  once  ;  but  course 


06  ALICE    WILDE. 

lie  can't  let  you  kill  his  friends.  Conic,  now,  Ben,  you  prom 
ise  to  do  right,  and  I'll  stan'  by  yer  tru  thick  and  thin." 

"  Some  of  the  time  I'm  good,  and  agin  I'm  bad.  I  didn't 
use  to  be  so.  It's  only  wretchedness  has  made  me  so  ugly. 
I  don't  know  how  to  try  to  be  better." 

"  May  I  pray  for  you,  Ben." 

"  Yes— if  you  want  to  be  such  a  fool,"  he  said,  reluctantly. 

The  good  old  colored  woman  went  down  on  her  knees 
there  upon  the  mossy  cushion  of  the  earth,  pouring  out  her 
soul  in  prayer  for  the  haggard  being,  who  sat,  with  his  chin 
in  his  hands,  listening  to  her  appeal  in  Iris  behalf.  Tears 
streamed  down  her  cheeks ;  the  earnestness,  the  pathos  of  her 
sincere  petitions  to  that  great  Father  whom  she  seemed  to 
believe  had  power  to  comfort  and  take  care  of ,  him  and  adopt 
him  as  a  child,  touched  his  lonely,  sullen,  misanthropic  nature 
— his  sobs  accompanied  her  "  Amen  !" 

"  I  shouldn't  be  such  a  baby  as  to  cry,"  he  said,  when  sh.e 
had  finished,  "  if  I  wasn't  so  weak ;  but  when  a  fellow's  fasted 
a  week  he  ain't  none  of  the  bravest.  I  thank  you,  though,  for 
your  prayer,  Aunt  Pallas — I'll  remember  it  to  my  dyin'  day. 
Here's  the  gun — take  it.  P'raps  if  I  keep  it  an  hour  longer, 
I'll  want  to  do  some  mischief  with  it.  Take  it,  while  you  can 
get  it ;  and  bring  me  some  food,  as  you  promised.  If  3-011 
break  your  promise,  and  bring  them  men  here  to  take  me  up, 
I  shan't  never  have  no  faith  in  prayers.  If  }•  ou  want  to  make 
a  Christian  of  me,  you  mus'n't  fool  me." 

"  Neither  will  I,"  said  Pallas ;  "  I'll  be  back  here  in  an  hour 
wid  bread  and  meat.  You'd  better  make  up  your  mind,  by  clat. 
time,  to  go  home  wid  me,  gib  yersolf  up  to  masser,  and  let  him 
do  as  he  feels  is  best  wid  yer.  He'll  act  for  de  bes',  be  sure." 

She  took  the  gun  and  hastened  off  with  it,  glad  to  get  tint 
means  of  harm  away  from  him.  She  was  firmly  resolved  not, 
to  break  her  promise  to  him,  much  as  she  desired  that  he 
might  be  put  in  safe  quarters,  and  this  uncomfortable  suspense. 
be  done  away  with.  As  he  had  confessed  himself  so  change 
able  in  his  moods,  she  did  not  rely  much  upon  his  present 
one.  Reaching  home,  she  stowed  the  riile  away,  saying 
nothing  about  it,  and  filling  her  basket  with  substantial  food, 
she  returned  to  the  appointed  spot.  To  her  surprise,  Ben  was 
not  there.  She  waited  a  few  minutes,  but  he  did  not  come. 


THE    BASKET    WAS    GONE.  97 

"  I  can't  bar  to  know  a  human  critter  is  starving  to  clef," 
she  muttered,  setting  the  basket  in  a  branch  of  the  fallen  tree. 
"  I'll  leave  dis  here — and  now  I've  kep'  my  promise  I'll  go 
straight  home  and  tell  masser  all  'bout  it,  and  he  can  take  seek 
steps  as  he  tinks  bes'." 

She  gave  a  graphic  account  of  the  whole  interview  to  the 
raftsman  as  soon  as  he  came  in  to  tea.  When  she  came  to 
that  part  of  his  confession  where  he  spoke  of  being  about  to 
choke-  Philip,  while  on  the  river,  Alice  turned  pale,  saying 
with  a  shudder — as  she  recalled  one  of  those  visions  which 
haunted  her  dreams  during  that  terrible  period  of  the  journey 
of  her  lover  with  his  deadly  enemy: 

"  Yes  !  yes !  I  did — but  it  was  in  a  dream.  I  beheld  the 
skiff  gliding  along  in  the  starlight,  Philip  sleeping,  his  arm 
under  his  head,  and  his  carpet-bag  for  a  pillow;  Ben  was 
stooping  over  him,  his  face  was  white  as  ashes,  his  teeth  were 
clenched,  his  hands  were  creeping  toward  Philip's  throat — I 
sprang  upon  him — I  held  his  -hands — I  drew  him  back — I 
screamed— and  the  scream  awoke  me,  and  father  rushed  into 
my  room  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  You  ridiculed  my 
nightmare,  father,  don't  you  recollect  ?" 

"  Poor  boy,"  said  the  raftsman,  wiping  a  tear  from  his  cheek, 
when  his  servant  had  concluded  her  relation.  "I'm  right 
down  sorry  for  the  lad.  And  when  you  are  married  and  out 
of  the  way,  puss,  I'll  take  him  in  hand,  and  try  and  reclaim 
him.  He'll  make  a  man  yet." 

"  He  ain't  to  blame  fer  his  faults,  seeing  he's  never  had  no 
good-broughten'  up.  I'll  teach  him  the  New  Testament  doc 
trines  ef  he'll  only  let  me,  oace  Miss  Alice  is  'way,"  remarked 
Pallas. 

Mr.  Wilde  went  to  the  spot  indicated  by  Pallas— the  basket 
of  food  had  been  taken  away,  but  no  one  was  in  the  vicinity. 
4 


ALICE    WILDE. 


CHAPTER     XII. 

FAMILY    AFFAIRS. 

IT  was  the  day  before  the  wedding.  The  house  was  in 
order,  to  the  full  satisfaction  of  the  sable  housekeeper. 
Viands,  worthy  of  the  occasion,  filled  the  store-room  to  over 
flowing1.  Philip,  with  his  suite,  including  the  minister  who 
was  to  officiate,  was  expected  to  arrive  by  supper-time.  The 
last  touches  were  given  to  the  arrangements,  and  Alice  was 
dressed  to  receive  her  guests,  by  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
The  motherly  heart  of  her  old  nurse  was  so  absorbed  in  her, 
that  she  came  very  near  making  fatal  mistakes  in  her  dress 
ings  and  sauces.  Every  five  minutes  she  would  leave  her 
work  to  speak  with  the  restless  young  creature,  who,  beauti 
ful  with  hopes  and  fears,  fluttered  from  room  to  room,  trying 
to  occupy  herself  so  that  her  heart  would  not  beat  quite  so 
unreasonably. 

"  They  are  coming  !"  she  cried,  at  last,  having  stolen  out 
for  the  hundredth  time  to  the  top  of  a  little  knoll  which  gave 
her  a  farther  view  of  the  river.  How  gladly  the  ripples 
sparkled,  how  lightly  the  winds  danced,  to  her  joyous  eyes. 
"  Oh,  Pallas,  they  are  coming !  what  shall  I  do  ?"  and  she  hid 
her  face  on  the  old  woman's  bosom,  as  if  flying  from  wThat 
she  yet  so  eagerly  expected. 

"  Do,  darliu'  ?  oh,  my  chile,  you  got  to  be  a  woman  now  ; 
no  more  little  chile  to  run  away  and  hide.  Masser  Moore 
berry  proud  of  his  wife  dat  is  to  be.  Don't  make  him 
'shamed,  darlin'." 

Ashamed  of  her !  mortify  Philip  !  the  thought  was  death 
to  Alice's  sensitive  spirit.  She  lifted  her  head  and  became 
calm  at  once. 

"  There,  nursie,  I  don't  feel  so  startled  any  more.  I  think 
I  can  meet  them,  clergyman  and  all,  without  flinching." 


AN    INTRODUCTION.  99 

Her  father,  who  had  been  on  the  look-out,  took  a  little  skiff 
and  went  down  to  meet  the  party.  Alice  stood  on  the  shore, 
as  she  had  done  upon  the  day  of  Philip's  first  arrival .  A  soft 
rose  glowed  in  either  cheek,  which  was  all  the  outward  sign 
of  the  inward  tumult  as  she  saw  her  bridegroom  sailing  near 
enough  to  recognize  and  salute  her.  She  saw  in  the  boat 
Philip,  the  minister,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond,  and  a  young 
lady  whom  she  had  never  met,  and  a  strange  young  gentleman. 

It  was  the  proudest  moment  of  Philip's  life  when  that 
young  lady  turned  and  grasped  his  arm,  exclaiming  in  a  low 
voice : 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  refused  me,  cousin  Philip.  I  did  not 
know  such  beings  existed  except  in  poetry  and  painting." 

Pallas,  standing  in  the  door,  in  an  extra  fine  turban  and 
the  new  dress  sent  for  the  occasion,  thought  her  pickaninny 
did  credit  to  her  "  broughten'  up,"  as  she  saw  the  manner, 
quiet,  modest,  but  filled  with  peculiar  grace,  with  which  Alice 
received  her  guests. 

"  Alice,"  said  Philip,  placing  the  fair  hand  of  the  proud 
stranger  in  hers ;  "  this  is  my  cousin  Virginia." 

"  I  have  come  to  wish  you  joy,  Alice,"  said  Virginia,  kiss 
ing  her  cheek  lightly,  and  smiling  in  a  sad,  cold  kind  of  way. 

Her  mourning  attire,  and  the  evident  melancholy  of  her 
manner,  touched  the  affectionate  heart  of  her  hostess,  who  re 
turned  her  kiss  with  interest. 

"  For  cle  law's  sake,  Saturn,  come  here  quick — quick  !  Who 
be  dat  comin'  up  de  walk  wid  masser  and  de  comp'ny  ?  Ef 
dat  ain't  little  Virginny  Moore,  growcd  up,  who  is  it  ?" 

"  It's  Virginny,  sure  'nuff !"  ejaculated  her  husband. 

In  the  mean  tune  that  young  lady  herself  began  to  look 
about  with  quick,  inquiring  glances ;  she  peered  into  the  rafts 
man's  face  anxiously,  and  again  toward  the  old  servants,  a 
perplexed  look  coming  over  her  face  as  she  neared  the  house. 

"  You  needn't  say  a  word,  Miss  Virginny — it's  us,  sartain — 
Pallas  and  Saturn,  your  fadder's  people,  who  had  you  in  our 
arms  ebery  day  till  you  was  eight  year  old.  You  do  remem 
ber  old  Pallas,  don't  you  now,  honey  ?  My  !  my !  what  a 
han'some,  tall  girl  you  is  growed — de  picture  ob  your  fadder. 
Yer  a  Moore  tru  and  tru,  Missus.  My  ole  eyes  is  glad  to  see 
you." 


100-  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  Hi !  hi !  Miss  Virginny !"  chuckled  Saturn,  bowing  and 
scraping. 

"  Come  'long  and  let  me  get  your  bunnit  off.  I  want  to 
take  a  good  look  at  ye,  honey.  Missus  Alice  neber  was  a 
Moore — she  was  like  lier  mudder,  small  and  purty  and  timicl- 
like  ;  but  ye's  a  perfect  Moore,  Miss  Virginny.  My  !  my  !  I 
know  'em  all,  root  and  branch.  I  tol'  my  ole  man  Masser 
Philip  belonged  to  our  Mooreses,  but  Masser  Wilde  he  neber 
let  on" — she  had  the  visitor's  bonnet  off  by  this  time,  talking 
all  the  time,  and  oblivious,  in  her  excited  state,  of  the  other 
guests. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Virginia,"  said  the  raftsman,  drawing  his  pow 
erful  figure  up  to  its  full  height,  "  I  am  that  brother-in-law 
you  have  been  taught  to  detest  and  be  ashamed  of.  You 
would  hardly  have  come  to  the  wedding,  if  you  had  known 
what  poor  company  you  were  to  get  in."- 

All  those  of  the  company  who  knew  him  looked  at  him  in 
surprise,  for  he  had  dropped  his  hoosier  form  of  speech  and 
took  on  the  air  of  a  superior  man.  Virginia  looked  at  him  a 
moment  calmly,  taking,  as  it  were,  an  estimate  of  the  mind 
and  heart  outside  of  that  athletic  frame,  and  gleaming  through 
those  noble  though  weather-beaten  features. 

"  I  do  not  see  any  thing  to  be  ashamed  of,"  she  said,  with 
a  smile,  giving  him  her  hand,  frankly,  in  a  sisterly  manner. 
"  I  was  but  a  little  child,  you  know,  when  your  connection 
with  our  family  commenced.  Doubtless  I  have  been  influ 
enced  by  what  I  have  heard.  If  my  father  wronged  you, 
David  Wilde,  it  is  time  for  you  to  forgive  it — lay  up  no  hard 
thoughts  against  the  dead." 

Her  lip  trembled  over  the  last  sentence. 

"  Dear  Virginia !  is  it  possible  my  Alice  is  to  finll  in  you — " 

"  An  aunt  ?  yes,  Philip, — and  you  are  about  to  marry  your 
third  cousin.  It's  rather  curious,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  We'll  talk  it  over  after  supper,"  said  the  host.  "  Pallas, 
our  guests  are  hungry.  The  river  breeze  sharpens  the  appe 
tite." 

Pallas  wanted  no  further  hint.  Perfectly  content  that  she 
had  the  means  of  satisfying  any  amount  of  hunger,  she  retired, 
with  her  subordinate  husband,  to  dish  up  the  feast. 

"  I  'spect  I'll  spile  half  dese  tings,  I'se  so  flusterated.     Did 


LOVE    AT    FJpST'SltukT.  101 


you  mind  whar'  I  put  dat  pepper,  -Saturn  't  '  ' 
say  wedder  I  put  it  in  de  gravy  or  in  de  coffee.  I  jee'  turn 
'round  and  put  it  in  de  suthin?  on  de  stove,  wile  I  was  tinkin' 
how  cur'us  tings  happens.  Dear  !  dear  !  I  put  it  in  de  cof 
fee,  sure  'nuff,  and  now  dat's  all  to  be  trowed  away  !  'Spect 
tings  won't  be  fit  to  eat.  Why  don'  you  fly  round  and  grin' 
more  coffee  ?  You  is  de  stupidest  nigger  !" 

In  spite  of  small  tribulations,  however,  the  supper  was 
served  in  due  season  and  with  due  seasoning.  Gay  conver 
sation  prevailed  ;  but  Alice,  though  bright  and  attentive,  felt 
uneasy..  Her  glance  frequently  wandered  to  the  windows  and 
open  doors.  A  certain  dark  figure  had  so  often  started  up  in 
unexpected  places,  and  seemed  to  hover  about  so  when  least 
expected,  that  she  could  not  be  entirely  at  her  ease.  It  was 
true  that  several  men  were  on  guard,  and  that  Ben  had  not 
been  heard  of  for  a  week  ;  but  he  was  so  sly,  so  subtle,  she 
felt  almost  as  if  he  might  drop  out  of  the  roof  or  come  up 
out  of  the  earth  at  any  instant. 

Philip  was  warned  to  be  on  the  look-out.  He  laughed  and 
said  he  was  a  match  for  Ben  in  a  fair  fight,  and  if  the  other 
had  no  fire-arms,  he  could  take  care  of  himself. 

Long  after  the  rest  of  the  party,  fatigued  with  their  journey, 
had  retired  for  the  night,  David  Wilde,  Alice,  Philip,  and  Vir 
ginia  sat  up,  talking  over  the  past,  present,  and  future. 

Alice,  who  had  never  known  the  particulars  of  her  mother's 
marriage  and  death,  except  as  she  had  gathered  hints  from 
her  old  nurse,  now  listened  with  tearful  eyes  to  brief  explana 
tions  of  the  past. 

Her  father,  in  his  youth,  had  been  a  medical  student,  poor, 
but  possessed  of  talent  —  a  charity-student,  in  fact,  who,  one 
day  had,  at  the  risk  of  his  own  life,  saved  the  lovely  daughter 
of  Mortimer  Moore  from  the  attack  of  a  rabid  dog  in  the 
street  He  had  actually  choked  the  ferocious  creature  to 
death  in  his  desperate  grip.  Grateful  for  the  noble  and  ines 
timable  service,  the  father  invited  him  to  the  house  to  receive 
a  substantial  token  of  his  gratitude  in  the  shape  of  a  sum  of 
money  sufficient  to  carry  him  through  his  course  of  study. 
But  the  courage,  the  modesty,  the  fine  address  and  respectful 
admiration  of  her  preserver,  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
Alice  Moore  —  it  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight  upon  both 


102  ALICE   WILDE. 


s—  they  were1  young  '  arid  ~  foolish  —  the  father  opposed  the 
match  with  contempt  and  indignation.  His  rudeness  roused 
the  ire  of  the  proud  student  ;  he  resolved  to  marry  the  woman 
he  loved,  in  spite  of  poverty.  They  fled,  accompanied  by 
Pallas,  the  attendant  of  the  young  girl  ;  the  father  refused  to 
forgive  them  ;  and  then,  when  sickness  and  suffering,  untem- 
pered  by  the  luxuries  of  wealth,  came  upon  his  delicate  wife, 
the  young  husband  realized  what  he  had  done  in  persuading 
her  away  from  her  home  and  the  habits  of  her  life.  If  he 
had  first  finished  his  studies  and  put  himself  in  the  way  of 
gaining  even  a  modest  living,  and  she  had  chosen  to  share 
such  a  lot,  he  would  have  done  right  in  following  the  dictates 
of  his  heart.  Now  he  felt  that  he  had  been  cruelly  rash.  A 
year  of  strange,  wild  happiness,  mixed  with  sorrow  and  priva 
tion  passed,  and  the  wife  became  a  mother.  Pallas  nursed 
her  with  tireless  assiduity  ;  her  husband,  bound  to  her  sick 
couch,  could  not  exert  himself  as  he  might  have  done  alone  ; 
they  grew  desperately  poor—  he  could  not  see  her  suffer  with 
out  humbling  his  pride,  and  writing  to  her  father  to  send  her, 
not  him,  the  means  necessary  to  her  comfort  and  recovery. 
They  were  coldly  denied.  Privation  somewhat,  but  care, 
grief,  and  trouble  more,  retarded  her  recovery,  —  she  fell  into  a 
decline,  and  died  in  his  arms,  who  swore  a  great  oath  over 
her  beloved  corpse  to  forsake  a  world  so  unjust,  so  cruel,  so 
unhappy.  Sending  a  bitter  message  to  her  father,  he  disap 
peared  with  their  infant  child.  The  old  colored  nurse,  who 
had  also  persuaded  her  husband  to  accompany  them,  went, 
with  him  as  foster-mother  to  the  child.  They  traveled  to  the 
far  West  —  much  farther  in  those  days  than  now  —  and  when 
they  first  settled  where  they  now  were,  they  were  isolated  in 
the  wilderness. 

Mr.  Wilde  took  up  his  portion  of  government  land.  By 
the  time  other  emigrants  had  made  settlements  down  the 
river,  he  had  made  enough  from  it  to  purchase  more.  He 
felled  timber  with  his  own  hands,  and  drifted  it  down  to 
where  it  was  wanted.  As  years  passed,  he  employed  hands, 
built  a  mill,  and  as  towns  grew  up  within  market-distance, 
found  business  increasing  upon  him.  During  all  this  time  he 
had  nurtured  his  spleen  against  the  civilized  world  ;  natures 
strong  and  wayward  like  his,  are  subject  to  prejudice  —  and 


PRIDE    SHALL    HAVE    A    FALL.  103 

because  one  haughty  old  aristocrat  had  allowed  a  fair  child  to 
perish  neglected,  he  condemned  refined  society  en  masse.  He 
adopted  the  conversation  and  manners,  to  a  great  degree,  of 
those  by  whom  he  was  surrounded. 

All  these  things  explained  to  Philip  many  incongruities  in 
the  talk  and  habits  of  Mr.  Wilde — the  possession  of  books,  the 
knowledge  of  man  —  which  had  hitherto  challenged  his 
curiosity. 

It  had  been  the  object  of  the  raftsman  to  bring  up  his 
daughter  in  strict  seclusion  from  the  world  he  despised  ;  he 
had  not  thought  of  further  consequences  than  to  keep  her  in 
nocent,  unselfish,  unsuspicious,  and  free  from  guile.  Chance 
threw  Philip  in  their  way.  His  frankness,  pleasant  temper, 
and  sincerity  excused  his  fashionable  graces  in  Mr.  Wilde's 
estimation ;  more  intimate  association  with  him  did  much  to 
wear  away  the  prejudices  he  had  been  heaping  up  unchal 
lenged  for  so  long ;  and  when  it  came  to  the  certainty  that 
his  daughter  must  choose  between  one  of  the  rough  and  un 
educated-men  around  her,  or  on  a  man  like  Philip,  he  could 
not  conceal  from  himself  that  Philip  was  his  choice. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  brought  me  out  here  at  this  crit 
ical  moment  ?"  asked  Virginia,  "  I  come  to  throw  myself 
upon  Philip's  charity — to  become  a  pensioner  upon  his  bounty. 
Yes,  Mr.  Wilde,  upon  closing  up  rny  father's  estate,  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  left  for  his  only  child.  He  lived  up  to  all 
that  he  possessed,  hoping,  before  his  poverty  became  known, 
that  I  would  make  a  brilliant  match.  A  fortnight  ago  my 
lawyer  told  me  there  would  be  nothing  left,  but  a  small  an 
nuity  from  my  mother,  wThich  they  can  not  touch.  It  is  a  sum 
barely  sufficient  to  dress  me  plainly — it  will  not  begin  to  pay 
my  board.  So  I,  unable  to  bear  my  discomfiture  alone, 
friendless,  sorrowful,  thought  it  less  bitter  to  begin  anew 
among  strangers  than  in  the  scenes  of  my  former  triumph.  I 
came  on  to  beg  Philip  to  find  me  some  little  rural  school 
where  I  might  earn  my  bread  and  butter  in  peace,  unstung 
by  the  coldness  of  past  worshipers.  I'll  make  a  good  teacher, 
— don't  you  think  so  ?— so  commanding  !" 

Yet  she  sighed  heavily,  despite  her  attempt  at  pleasantry. 
It  was  easy  to  be  seen  that  earning  her  own  living  would  go 
hard  with  the  accomplished  daughter  of  Mortimer  Moore. 


104  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  But  Philip  will  never  let  you  go  away  from  us,  I  am 
sure,"  said  Alice's  soft  voice,  caressingly. 

"  Until  she  goes  to  a  home  of  her  own,"  added  her  cousin, 
with  a  mischievous  smile.  "  I  wouldn't  be  guilty  of  match 
making;  but  I  own  I  had  a  purpose  in  asking  my  friend 
Irving  to  stand  as  groomsman  with  Virginia,  How  do  you 
like  him,  my  sweet  cousin  ? — be  honest  now." 

"  Not  as  well  as  I  have  liked  some  other  man,  sir  ?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  not  yet ;  but  you'll  grow  to  it ;  and  he  has 
no  stain  upon  his  escutcheon — he  isn't  even  a  flour-merchant 
or  mill-owner." 

"  You  haven't  told  me  what  he  is  yet,"  said  Virginia,  with 
a  slight  show  of  interest. 

"  Pie's  my  book-keeper." 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  you're  jesting." 

"  No,  indeed,  I'm  not.  He  has  not  a  cent,  saving  his  sal 
ary  ;  but  he's  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  and  has  seen  better 
days." 

"  Well,  I  like  him,  anyhow,"  she  remarked,  presently. 

"  You  ought  to  encourage  him  to  pay  his  addresses  to  you. 
You  could  teach  school,  and  he  could  keep  books.  You 
could  take  a  suite  of  three  rooms,  and  wait  upon  yourselves. 
I'll  promise  to  furnish  the  rooms  with  dimity,  delf,  and  rag- 
carpeting  " 

"  You  are  generous,  Philip." 

"And  to  send  you  an  occasional  barrel  of  flour  and  load  of 
refuse  kindling-wood." 

"  My  prospects  brighten." 

"  Don't  tease  the  girl,"  said  the  raftsman,  "  she'll  do  bet 
ter  'n  you  think  for  yet.  Since  my  own  chick  has  deserted 
me  for  another  nest,  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  adopt  Virginia 
myself." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  and  the  great  black  eyes  were  turned 
to  him  with  a  mournful,  lonely  look.  "  Everybody  else  is  so 
happy  and  blessed,  they  do  not  need  me.  But  I  should  love 
to  wait  upon  you,  and  cheer  you,  sir." 

It  was  a  great  change  which  misfortune  was  working  in 
the  spirit  of  the  proud  and  ambitious  girl.  Philip,  who  knew 
her  so  well,  regarded  her  present  mood  with  surprise. 

"  Well,  well,  without  joking,  I  intend  to  adopt  this  orphan 
girl.  She's  the  sister  of  my  own  dead  wife,  and  she  shall 


A  BACKWOODSMAN'S  GENEBOSITY.  105 

share  equally  with  my  little  Alice  in  all  that  the  rough  old 
raftsman  has." 

"  Which  won't  be  much,  father,"  said  Alice,  with  a  smile, 
glancing  around  upon  their  humble  forest  home. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,  little  one.  I  haven't  felled 
pine  logs  and  sawed  lumber  for  fifteen  years  to  no  account. 
Did  you  think  your  two  dresses  a  year,  your  slippers,  and 
straw-hats  had  eaten  up  all  the  money-bags  I  brought  home 
with  me  upon  my  trips.  Here's  a  check  for  five  thousand 
dollars,  puss,  to  furnish  that  new  house  with;  and  -when 
Philip  gets  time  to  'tend  to  it,  the  cash  is  ready  to  put  up  a 
steam  saw-mill  nigh  about  here,  somewhere — the  income  to 
be  yours.  It  '11  bring  you  in  a  nice  little  bit  of  pocket-money. 
And  if  Virginia  concludes  to  accept  that  pale-faced  book 
keeper,  thar's  an  equal  sum  laid  aside  for  her — and  home  and 
money  as  much  as  she  wants  in  the  mean  time.  It  shan't  be 
said  the  old  raftsman's  pretty  daughters  had  no  wedding  por 
tion." 

Virginia  took  his  rough  hand  in  her  two  white  ones,  and  a 
tear  mingled  with  the  kiss  which  she  pressed  upon  it. 


106  ALICE    WILDE. 


CHAPTER     XIII. 

THE   TORNADO. 

WHEN  Alice  came  out  of  her  room  dressed  for  the  marriage 
ceremony  she  looked  quaintly  lovely.  Old  Pallas  sobbed  as 
she  looked  at  her,  and  her  father  wiped  the  dimness  again  and 
again  from  his  eyes ;  for  it  was  as  if  the  fair  young  bride  of 
long  ago  had  come  to  life. 

Philip  had  made  it  an  especial  request  that  she  should  dress 
in  a  costume  similar  to  that  she  wore  when  he  first  loved 
her ;  and  her  father  had  told  her  to  provide  no  wedding-robe, 
as  he  wished  her  to  wear  one  of  his  own  choosing.  She  had 
been  attired  in  the  bridal  robe  and  vail,  the  high-heeled  satin 
slippers,  the  long  white  gloves  which  had  lain  so  many  years 
in  the  mysterious  trunk.  Philip's  gift,  a  bandeau  of  pearls, 
shone  above  a  brow  not  less  pure — set  in  the  golden  masses 
of  her  hair. 

Virginia  laid  aside  her  mourning  for  that  clay,  appearing  in 
a  fleecy  muslin  robe,  as  bride-maid,  and  none  the  less  queenly 
on  account  of  the  simplicity  of  her  dress.  Her  face  had  gain 
ed  an  expression  of  gentleness  which  added  very  much  to  her 
superb  attractions,  and  which  was  not  unnoticed  by  her  com 
panion  in  the  ceremonies. 

The  words  had  been  said  which  made  the  betrothed  pair 
man  and  wife.  A  more  romantic  wedding  seldom  has 
occurred  than  was  this,  in  which  wealth  and  elegance  were  so 
intimately  combined  with  the  rude  simplicity  of  frontier  life. 
To  see  those  beautiful  and  richly-dressed  ladies  flitting  in  and 
out  the  modest  house  buried  in  the  shadows  of  the  western 
woods ;  the  luxurious  viands  of  the  cook's  producing  served 
upon  the  plainest  of  delf,  to  have  the  delicate  and  the  rough 
so  contrasted,  made  a  pretty  and  effective  picture  against  the 
sunshine  of  that  September  day.  The  spirit  of  the  scene  was 
felt  and  enjoyed  by  all,  even  the  venerable  clergyman— rich 


ABDUCTION    OF    THE    BKIDE.  107 

voices  and  gay  laughter  blent  with  the  murmur  of  the  river — 
fond,  admiring  eyes  followed  every  motion  of  the  bride.  The 
bride  !  where  was  the  bride  ? 

She  had  been  standing  on  the  lawn,  just  in  front  of  the 
door  with  Mrs.  Raymond,  who  was  saying — 

"  '  Happy  is  the  bride  the  sun  shines  on,'  " 

just  the  previous  moment;  Mrs.  Raymond  had  run  down  to 
the  river-bank,  and  was  throwing  pebbles  in  the  water. 

Mr.  Wilde,  ever  apprehensive,  ever  vigilant,  had  just  missed 
her,  and  was  turning  to  inquire  of  the  bridegroom,  when  a 
shriek,  wild,  sharp,  agonizing,  paralyzed  for  an  instant  every 
faculty  of  the  listeners. 

"  Great  God,  it  is  that  madman  !"  burst  from  the  father's 
lips. 

Philip  and  he  sprang  out-of-doors  together,  just  in  time  to 
see  her  borne  into  the  forest,  flung  like  an  infant  over  the 
shoulder  of  her  abductor,  who  was  making  great  leaps  along 
the  path  with  the  speed  and  strength  of  a  panther.  The  two 
men  appointed  as  guards  were  running  after  him.  Mr.  Wilde 
sprang  for  his  rifle — the  bridegroom  waited  for  nothing. 

"  Don't  shoot !"  he  shouted  to  the  men ;  "  you  will  kill  the 
girl !" 

Philip  reached  and  distanced  the  men  ;  the  raftsman,  strong 
and  tall,  and  accustomed  to  the  woods,  passed  him  even, 
madly  as  he  exerted  himself. 

"  If  I  only  dared  to  fire,"  he  breathed,  between  his  clenched 
teeth.  "  If  he  would  give  me  just  one  second's  fair  and  square 
aim— but  my  child,  she  is  his  shield !" 

Two  or  three  times  the  two  foremost  pursuers  came  in 
sight,  almost  within  arm's  reach  of  the  terrified  girl,  crying, 
"  Philip  !  father  !"  in  such  piercing  tones  of  entreaty. 

"  Can  not  you  save  me,  Philip  ?"  once  he  was  so  near,  he 
heard  the  question  distinctly — but  the  furious  creature  who 
grasped  her,  gave  a  tremendous  whoop  and  bound,  leaping 
over  logs  and  fallen  trees,  brooks,  and  every  obstacle  with 
such  speed,  that  his  own  feet  seemed  to  be  loaded  with  lead, 
and  he  to  be  oppressed  with  that  powerlessness  which  binds 
us  during  terrible  dreams.  He  flew,  and  yet  to  his  agony  of 
impatience,  he  seemed  to  be  standing  still. 


108  ALICE    WILDE. 

"Philip— father— Philip !" 

How  faint,  how  far  away.  At  length  they  heard  her  no 
more ;  they  had  lost  the  clue — they  knew  not  which  way  to 
pursue.  The  forest  grew  wilder  and  denser ;  it  was  dim  at 
mid-day  under  those  tall,  thick-standing  pines ;  and  now  the 
afternoon  was  wearing  toward  sunset. 

"  Philip,"  said  the  raftsman  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  we  must 
separate — each  man  of  the  party  must  take  a  different  track. 
Here  is  my  rifle ;  I  wrill  get  another  from  the  men.  Use  it  if 
you  dare — use  it,  at  all  risks,  if  that  devil  seeks  to  harm  her. 
His  strength  must  give  up  some  time." 

"Don't  despair,  father,"  said  the  new-made  husband,-  but 
his  own  heart  was  cold  in  his  bosom,  and  he  felt  so  desperate 
that  he  could  have  turned  the  rifle  upon  himself. 

Not  knowing  but  that  he  was  going  farther  from  instead  of 
nearer  to  the  objects  of  his  search,  with  every  step,  he  had  to 
pause  frequently  to  listen  for  some  sound  to  guide  him. 
Wandering  on  in  this  wild,  unsatisfactory  way,  his  brain 
growing  on  fire  with  horror,  suddenly  he  heard  a  sharp  voice 
chanting — 

"  '  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress-tree, 

When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near.'  " 

The  next  moment  he  came  face  to  face  with  Ben  Perkins — 
but  no  Alice  was  in  his  arms  now,  nor  was  she  anywhere  hi 
sight. 

"  Fiend  1  devil !  what  have  you  clone  with  my  wife  ?" 
His  eyes  shone  like  coals  out  of  a  face  as  white  as  ashes,  as 
he  confronted  his  enemy  with  a  look  that  would  have  made 
any  sane  man  tremble ;  but  the  wretch  before  him  only  stared 
him  vacantly  in  the  face  with  a  mournful  smile,  continuing  to 
sing— 

"  '  And  her  fire-fly  lamp  I  soon  shall  see, 
Her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear.' " 

"  Where  is  she — answer  me,  devil  ?" 

The  hand  of  Philip  clutched  the  lunatic's  throat,  and  with 
the  strength  of  an  anguish  as  superhuman  as  the  transient 
power  of  the  other  had  been,  he  shook  him  fiercely  as  he 
repeated  the  question.  The  madman  wilted  under  his  grasp, 
but  as  soon  as  the  hold  was  relaxed,  he  slid  from  under  it,  and 
sprang  away. 


THE    TOHXADO.  109 

"  '  They  made  her  a  grave  too  cold  and  damp,'  " 
he  chanted,  darting  from  tree  to  tree,  as  Philip,  hopeless  of 
making  him  tell  what  he  had  done  with  Alice,  tried  to  shoot 
him  down. 

"  He  has  murdered  her,''  he  thought ;  and  getting  a  mo 
mentary  chance,  he  fired,  but  without  effect ;  Ben  climbed  a 
tree,  springing  from  branch  to  branch  like  a  squirrel,  until  he 
reached  the  top,  and  like  a  squirrel,  chattering  nonsense  to 
himself.  "  If  I  had  another  shot  I  would  put  an  end  to  his 
miserable  existence,"  muttered  Philip,  turning  away  to  trace, 
if  possible,  the  track  of  the  man,  and  find  where  'he  had 
dropped  Alice. 

Soon  he  came  out  upon  a  small,  open,  elevated  space — the 
river  was  upon  one  side,  the  woods  all  around.  Something 
strange  was  in  the  air — nature  seemed  to  be  listening — not  a 
breath  rippled  the  water  or  made  a  leaf  quiver — he  felt  hot 
and  suffocated.  Despite  of  all  his  mental  misery,  he,  too, 
paused  and  listened  like  the  elements — his  ear  caught  a  far 
away  murmur.  The  day  had  been  very  warm  for  that  season 
of  the  year ;  it  grew,  now,  oppressive.  A  low  bank  of  dark 
clouds  lay  along  the  south  and  west,  hanging  over  the  prairie 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream — it  was  such  a  bank  of 
clouds  as  would  seem  to  threaten  rain  before  midnight ;  but 
even  while  he  gazed,  a  great  black  column  wheeled  up  from 
the  mass  and  whirled  along  the  sky  with  frightful  rapidity. 
The  distant  murmur  grew  to  a  roar,  and  the  roar  deepened 
and  increased  until  it  was  like  the  surf-swell  of  a  thousand 
oceans.  Stunned  by  the  tumult,  fascinated  by  the  sublime 
terror  of  the  spectacle,  he  followed  with  his  gaze  the  course 
of  the  destructive  traveler,  which  flew  forward,  sweeping  down 
upon  the  country  closer  and  more  close.  The  air  was  black 
— night  fell  upon  every  thing— he  saw  the  tornado— holding 
in  its  bosom  dust,  stones,  branches  of  trees,  roofs  of  houses,  a 
dark,  whirling  mass  of  objects,  which  it  had  caught  up  as  it 
ran — reach  the  river,  and  with  an  instinct  of  self-preservation, 
threw  himself  flat  upon  the  ground,  behind  a  rock  which 
jutted  up  near  him.  He  could  tell  when  it  smote  the  forest, 
for  the  tremendous  roar  was  pierced  through  with  the  snap 
ping,  crackling  sound  of  immense  trees,  broken  off  like  pipe- 
stems  and  hurled  in  a  universal  crash  to  the  earth. 


110  ALICE    WILDE. 

A  short  time  lie  crouched  where  he  was,  held  down  in 
fact,  pressed,  flattened,  hurt  by  the  trampling  winds;  but 
nothing  else  struck  him,  and  presently  he  struggled  to  his  feet. 

What  a  spectacle  met  him,  as  he  looked  toward  the  forest 
from  which  he  had  so  lately  emerged  !  A  vast  and  over 
whelming  ruin,  in  the  midst  of  which  it  seemed  impossible 
that  any  life,  animal  or  vegetable,  should  have  escaped.  A- 
desolation,  such  as  poets  have  pictured  as  clinging  to  the 
ulast  man,"  came  over  the  soul  of  Philip  Moore.  Where 
were  his  friends  ?  where  that  gay  party  lie  had  invited  from 
their  distant  homes  to  meet  this  fate  ?  where  was  Alice,  his 
wife  of  an  hour  ?  His  manhood  yielded  to  the  blow ;  he 
cowered  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

The  darkness  passed  over  for  a  brief  time,  only  to  come 
again  with  the  setting  sun,  which  had  sent  some  lurid  gleams 
of  light,  like  torches  to  fire  the  ruin,  through  the  storm,  before 
sinking  from  sight.  A  drenching  rain  fell  in  torrents,  the 
wind  blew  chilly  and  rough. 

"  I  will  search  for  her — I  will  find  her,  and  die  beside  her 
mangled  remains,"  murmured  Philip,  arising  and  turning 
toward  the  forest. 

The  incessant  flashes  of  lightning  were  his  only  lamps  as  he 
struggled  through  the  intricate  mazes  of  fallen  trees.  It  was 
a  task  which  despair,  not  hope,  prompted,  to  toil  through 
rain  and  wind  and  darkness,  over  and  under  and  through 
splintered  trunks  and  tangled  foliage,  looking,  by  the  light 
ning's  evanescent  glare,  for  some  glimpse  of  the  white  bridal 
robe  of  his  beloved.  The  hours  prolonged  themselves  into 
days  and  weeks  to  his  suffering  imagination,  and  still  it  was 
not  morning.  As  if  not  content  with  the  destruction  already 
wrought,  the  elements  continued  to  hurl  their  anger  upon  the 
prostrate  wilderness ;  ever  and  anon  the  sharp  tongue  of  the 
lightning  would  lick  up  some  solitary  tree  which  the  wind 
had  left  in  its  hurry ;  hail  cut  the  fallen  foliage,  and  the  rain 
fell  heavily.  It  was  a  strange  bridal  night. 

Not  knowing  what  moment  he  might  stumble  upon  the 
crushed  body  of  some  one  of  his  friends,  Philip  wandered 
through  the  storm.  He  felt  more  antl  more  as  if  he  were 
going  mad — reason  trembled  and  shuddered  at  his  misfortunes. 
Two  or  three  times  he  resolved  to  dash  his  brains  out  against 


FOUND    AGAIN.  Ill 

a  tree,  to  prevent  himself  the  misery  of  going  inad  and  yet 
living  on  in  those  dismal  solitudes,  till  hunger  conquered  what 
grief  refused  to  vanquish.  Then  the  lightning  would  glimmer 
over  some  white  object,  perchance  the  bark  freshly  scaled  from 
some  shattered  trunk,  and  he  would  hurry  toward  it,  calling 
— "  Alice !"  as  once  she  had  called,  "  Philip,"  through  a  less 
wretched  night. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  if  no  other  morning  began  to  come 
before  long,  the  morning  of  eternity  must  open  its  gates  upon 
the  world ;  the  strength  of  the  tempest  was  spent ;  only  fitful 
gushes  of  wind  swept  past;  here  and  there  a  star  looked 
down  hurriedly  through  the  drifting  clouds ;  the  solemn  roll 
of  the  thunder  resounded  afar,  like  the  drums  of  an  enemy 
beating  a  retreat. 

Exhausted,  he  sank  at  the  foot  of  one  of  those  Indian 
mounds  common  in  western  forests.  A  gleam  of  the  vanish 
ing  lightning  flickered  over  the  scene.  Hardly  had  it  faded 
into  darkness  before  a  voice  close  to  his  side  whispered  his 
name ;  a  warm  hand  felt  through  the  night,  touching  his ;  a 
form  glowing  with  life,  soft,  and  tender,  albeit  its  garments 
were  cold  and  drenched,  sank  into  his  outstretched  arms. 

"Yes,  Philip,  it  is  I— safe,  unhurt.  And  you — are  you 
uninjured  ?" 

He  could  not  answer;  his  throat  was  choked  with  the 
sweetest  tears  which  ever  welled  from  a  man's  heart ;  he 
could  only  press  her  close,  close,  in  the  silence  of  speechless 
delight. 

In  that  hour  of  reunion  they  knew  not  if  they  had  a  friend 
left ;  but  the  thought  only  drew  them  more  near  in  heart  than 
ever  they  had  or  could  have  been  before.  Weary  and  storm- 
beaten,  but  filled  with  a  solemn  joy,  they  clasped  each  other 
close  and  sank  upon  the  wet  sod,  to  sleep  the  sleep  of  exhaus 
tion,  until  the  morning  should  dawn  upon  them  to  light  their 
search  for  their  friends. 


113  ALICE   WILDE. 


CHAPTER     XIV. 

GATHERING    TOGETHER. 

THE  first  ray  of  morning  startled  the  young  couple  from 
their  sweet  but  troubled  sleep. 

"  You  shiver  !"  exclaimed  Philip,  looking  at  the  damp,  dis 
ordered  attire  of  his  wife ;  "  I  ought  not  to  have  allowed  you 
to  fall  asleep  in  those  wet  garments." 

"  It  is  but  a  momentary  chill,  dear  Philip.  Oh,  let  us  go 
and  find  my  father.  Certainty  will  be  more  endurable  than 
this  dreadful  suspense." 

They  arose,  pursuing  their  search  through  the  gray  dawn 
which  brightened  soon  into  as  glorious  a  September  day  as 
ever  shone.  There  was  no  use  in  trying  to  convict  Mother 
Nature  of  crime  and  bloodshed ;  she  appeared  totally  uncon 
scious  of  the  waste  and  ruin  she  had  spread  over  the  land  the 
previous  day.  Through  the  wrecked  wilderness  they  strug 
gled  forward,  silent,  sad,  looking  hi  every  direction  for  traces 
of  their  friends,  and  making  their  way,  as  correctly  as  they 
could  discern  it,  with  the  river  for  a  guide,  toward  the  home 
which  they  expected  to  find  overwhelmed  and  scattered  by 
the  storm. 

It  was  four  or  five  hours  before  they  came  in  sight  of  the 
cabin,  so  toilsome  was  their  course ;  many  times  Alice  had 
been  obliged  to  rest,  for  hunger  and  fatigue  were  becoming 
overpowering,  and  now  Philip  had  to  support  her  almost  en 
tirely,  as  she  clung  to  his  arm. 

"  Take  courage,  clearest, — there  is  the  house,  and  standing, 
as  I  live  !" 

The  storm,  sweeping  on,  had  just  touched  with  its  scattering 
edges  the  house,  which  was  unroofed  and  the  chimney  blown 
down,  and  otherwise  shaken  and  injured,  though  not  totally 
demolished.  As  the  two  came  in  sight  of  it,  they  perceived 
old  Pallas,  sitting  on  the  front  step  in  an  attitude  of  complete 


GONE    TO    GLORY.  113 

despondency,  her  apron  thrown  over  her  face,  motionless  and 
silent.  She  did  not  hear  them  nor  see  them  until  they  stood 
by  her  side. 

"  Pallas  !  what  is  the  news  ?  where  is  my  father  ?" 
The   old  woman   flung   her  apron  down  with   a  mingled 
laugh  and  groan. 

"  Oh,  my  chile,  my  darlin',  my  pickaninny,  is  dat  you,  an' 
no  mistake  ?"  Springing  up,  she  caught  her  young  mistress 
to  her  bosom,  and  holding  her  there,  laughed  and  sobbed  over 
her  together.  "  Sence  I  seen  you  safe  agin,  and  young  mas- 
ser,  too,  bof  of  you  safe  and  soun',  as  I  neber  'spected  to  be 
hold  on  dis  yearth  agin,  let  me  go  now,  'long  wid  my  ole 
man — O  Lord !  let  thy  serbent  depart  in  peace  !" 

"  My  father — have  you  heard  from  him  since  the  storm  ?" 
"  No,  darlin',  not  from  one  single  soul,  all  dis  awful  night. 
De  ladies  dey  were  wid  me  till  de  mornin'  broke,  den  dey  set 
out,  cryin'  and  weepin'  and  wringiu'  dere  han's,  to  look  for  all 
you  who  was  in  de  wood,  Oh,  dis  has  been  a  tumble  season 
for  a  weddin'.  I  had  a  sense  all  de  time  suthin'  was  goin'  to 
happen.  My  poor  ole  man  !" 

"  What's  become  of  him  ?"  asked  Philip. 
"  De  Lord  above  alone  knows  where  he  be  now — oh  !  oh  ! 
He  was  tuk  right  up  to  glory,  wid  his  weddin'  garment  on. 
I  see  him  sailin'  off,  but  I  couldn't  help  him.     Laws  !  if  mis 
sus  isn't  a  goin'  to  faint  dead  over." 

"  Give  her  to  me,  and  get  something  for  her  to  eat  and 
drink,  if  you  can  find  it,  Pallas.  She's  worn  out." 

"  I've  kep'  up  a  fire  in  de  kitchen,  which  is  low,  an'  not 
much  hurt,  I'll  spread  a  bed  down  dar  and  lay  her  down  on 
de  floor  till  I  make  some  right  strong  tea.  Lord  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner  !  It's  times  as  make  ole  Pallas's  heart  ache. 
Come  'long  wid  her,  masser — I'll  tro  a  mattress  on  de  floor. 
Dar,  lay  her  down,  I'll  hab  de  tea  direckly.  Sech  sights  as  I 
see  yesterday  is  'nuff  to  unsettle  anybody  as  sots  dar  heart  on 
de  tings  ob  dis  woiT.  When  I  heard  my  chile  scream,  I 
tought  a  knife  went  right  tru  me — I  could  n'  run,  nor  do 
nuthin',  I  was  jes'  all  weak  and  trimbling.  Dar  I  stood, 
lookin'  into  de  woods,  wid  eberybody  out  ob  sight,  when  I 
hear  de  storm  a  comin'.  First  I  tought  it  was  de  ribber  brok 
ing  loose ;  I  looked  round,  but  dat  was  jes'  as  peaceable  as  a 


114  ALICE    WILDE. 

lamb.  Here,  honey,  set  up,  and  drink  yer  tea.  Den  I  tought 
de  woods  on  fire,  as  dey  was  onct,  when  dey  made  sech  a 
roar,  but  dey  wan't.  Den  I  looked  up  to  see  if  do  sky  was 
Tallin',  which  was  de  fust  I  saw  ob  de  wTind.  It  war  a 
whirlin'  and  a  roarin'  like  eber  so  many  tousend,  hundred  mill- 
wheels.  It  look  for  all  de  worl'  like  a  big  funnel  wid  water 
pourin'  tru.  I  was  so  scart,  I  run  back  to  do  house,  hollerin' 
for  my  ole  man,  who  was  settin'  on  de  fence,  lookin'  fodder 
way.  But  he  didn'  hear  me.  It  went  right  past,  holdin'  me 
up  agin  de  wall  as  ef  I  war  nailed.  I  seen  de  air  all  full  ob 
ebery  ting,  chickens  and  pigs  and  boards  and  trees,  and  it  tuk 
my  ole  man  right  up  off  dat  fence  an'  carried  him  up  to  de 
nex'  woiT.  I  see  him,  wid  my  own  eyes,  ridin'  off  in  de 
chariot  ob  de  wind,  way  over  de  woods,  way  off,  off,  out  ob 
sight.  Oh,  missus,  when  I  see  him  goin'  so,  I  mos'  wish  I  was 
'long.  I  know  Saturn  was  a  foolish  nigger,  and  a  mighty  sleepy- 
headed.  He  was  n'  no  use  to  me  much — he  was  a  great  cross ; 
but  dar  neber  was  a  better-hearted  husband.  He  min'  me  like 
a  chile.  And  he  was  so  fond  of  presarbed  plums,  and  such  a 
hand  to  help  'bout  de  kitchen — 'pears  to  me  I  hain't  no  heart. 
But  laws,  what  bus'ness  I  to  speak  my  troubles,  and  you  neber 
to  know  where  your  own  fadder  is.  If  masser  don't  come 
back,  I'll  jes'  lay  down  an'  die.  Poor  ole  nigger  no  more  use. 
Dar's  Saturn  tuk  away  in  de  clouds  wid  his  bes'  raiment  on, 
as  de  Bible  commands  ;  and  neber  one  moufful  ob  de  weddin' 
feas'  which  is  standin'  on  de  table,  and  de  rain  leaking  down 
upon  it — oh  !  hi !  hi !" 

"  Poor  Pallas,  I'm  sorry  for  you.  But,  Philip,  I  must  go — 
I  feel  stronger  now." 

"No,  no,  my  own  darling  Alice,  you  are  not  fit  for  further 
exertion.  Remain  here  in  the  hands  of  your  nurse.  Pallas,  I 
leave  my  wife  to  your  care.  She  is  in  a  fever  now.  Change 
her  clothing  and  give  her  hot  drinks.  I  must  be  off.  Keep 
up  heart,  dearest,  till  I  get  back." 

He  had  hastily  disposed  of  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  few  mouth 
ful  of  food,  kissed  his  bride,  and  was  hurrying  from  the  house, 
to  go  again  into  the  woods  for  tidings,  when  a  tumult  outside 
drew  all  three  to  the  door.  Every  one  of  the  missing  party, 
except  poor  old  Saturn,  whose  own  case  was  hopeless,  and 
the  raftsman  himself,  were  coming  up  in  a  group.  Virginia 


NO    MORE    WOODCHUCK    PIE. 


f!5 


and  Mrs.  Raymond  had  encountered  them  in  their  search  for. 
the  clearing,  and  had  led  them  out  of  the  woods.  Mr.  Ray 
mond  and  the  clergyman  had  been  together  overtaken  by 
the  tempest ;  but  it  was  not  so  severe  where  they  were,  as 
in  that  part  of  the  forest  reached  by  Mr.  "VVilde  and  Philip. 
Trees  had  fallen  before  and  around  them,  but  they  had  es 
caped  unharmed.  Night  coming  on,  and  the  rain  and 
changed  character  of  the  scene  bewildering  them,  they  had 
not  been  able  to  make  their  way  out  of  the  woods  ;  and. 
of  course  had  suffered  from  anxiety,  in  common  with  their 
friends.  Their  astonishment  and  joy  at  beholding  the  bride 
and  groom  in  safety  were  only  held  in  check  by  the  uncer 
tainty  which  hung  about  the  fate  of  their  host.  Not  one 
would  enter  the  house,  until  that  fate  was  known ;  taking 
from  Pallas  the  cakes  and  cold  meat  she  brought  them,  they 
hastened  away — all  but  Alice,  who  was  really  too  ill  from  ex 
posure  and  surpense,  to  make  any  further  effort. 

"  Yes,  you  rest  yourself,  and  try  to  be  composed,  hone}'. 
Ef  your  dear,  good  father  is. really  taken  away,  you  nab  much 
to  be  thankful  for,  that  yer  not  left  unpertected  in  this 
bleak  worl'.  You've  a  husband  dat  loves  you  as  his  heart's 
blood — and  yer  father  himself  will  smile  in  de  heaben  above, 
to  tink  how  glad  he  is,  all  was  made  right,  and  you  with  some 
one  to  care  for  you,  'fore  lie  was  tooken  awa}7".  Dar',  clar',  don't 
hurt  yourself  a  sobbin'  so.  I  cried  all  night,  and  now  dese 
poor  ole  eyes  hab  no  more  tears  lef .  When  I  tought  I  was 
lef  all  alone — no  masser,  no  missus,  no  husband — niy  heart 
was  like  a  cold  stone.  I  feel  better  now.  Ef  masser  war 
here,  I  could  almost  rejoice,  spite  of  my  'flictions.  I  mns' 
bustle  round  and  get  suthin'  ready  for  all  dcse  tired,  hungry 
people  to  eat,  and  get  dein  bed-clo'es  dried  where  de  rain  beet 
in.  De  table  sot,  jus'  as  it  wos,  when  I  was  out  here  goin'  fer 
to  put  de  coffee  on,  and  herd  you  scream.  My  poor  ole  man. 
He's  gone  up,  sure,  for  I  saw  him  go.  Saturn  '11  neber  eat  no 
more  woodchuck  pie  in  dis  life — hi !  hi !  Now,  now,  picka 
ninny,  guess  whose  comin',  and  who  they're  a-bringin'.  You 
needn't  jump  out  of  yer  skin,  chile,  if  it  is  yer  own  father — 
hurt,  too,  I'm  afraid,  by  the  way  he  looks." 

Alice  sprang  to  the  door.  Philip  was  lending  her  father 
the  aid  of  his  strong  young  arm.  Mr.  Wilde  walked  with 
difficulty,  and  his  arm  hung  down  in  a  helpless  manner. 


116  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  Oh,  fat.her,  are  you  hurt?" 

"Nothing  to  speak  of— not  worth  mentioning.— a  little 
bruised,  and  my  left  arm  broken.  Positively,  I  don't  feel  a 
bit  of  pain,  since  I  see  you  unharmed,  my  darling." 

"  But  you'll  come  to  a  realizing  sense  of  it,  by  the  time  we 
have  set  it,  after  its  going  so  long  unattended  to,"  said  Philip. 

"  If  I  groan,  punish  me  for  it,"  replied  the  sturdy  raftsman. 

The  broken  limb  was  soon  set  and  splintered,  and  the 
friends  had  time  to  look  in  each  others'  faces,  and  realize  they 
were  altogether  and  safe. 

"  You  have  not  told  us  how  you  escaped  so  remarkably," 
said  they  to  Alice. 

"Not  anodder  word  at  prcsen',"  said  Pallas,  opening  the 
door  to  the  dining-room.  "  De  weddin'-feas'  has  not  been 
eaten — sech  as  it  is,  ye  mus'  stan'  in  need  of  it.  'Tain't  what 
it  would  have  been  yesterday,— but,  I've  did  my  bes'  under  de 
circumstances." 

"  Take  my  place,  Philip ;  I'll  lie  here  on  this  lounge,  and 
when  puss  is  through,  she  can  feed  me." 

"  If  missus  '11  cut  up  his  food,  I'll  wait  on  massa." 

As  the  declining  energies  of  the  party  were  recruited  by  the 
dinner,  their  spirits  rose  to  something  of  the  hilarity  of  the 
previous  day; — if  it  had  not  been  for  genuine  sympathy  with 
the  sorrow  of  the  old  servant,  mirth  would  have  prevailed  in 
proportion  to  their  past  distress.  An  occasional  exclamation, 
smothered  in  its  birth,  told  them  their  host  was  not  quite  so 
easy  as  he  affected  to  be ;  but  he  would  let  no  one  pity  him, 
bearing  his  pain  with  fortitude. 

In  the  center  of  the  table  stood  the  bride's-cake,  a  snowy 
pyramid,  the  triumph  of  Pailas's  skill,  wreathed  about  witli 
garlands.  It  was  fair  to  look  upon,  within  and  without,  and 
sweet  to  the  taste  as  agreeable  to  the  eyes. 

"  Dar'  was  de  whites  of  fifty  eggs  beaten  up  in  dat  cake," 
its  maker  declared,  in  an  aside  to  Virginia. 

"  Then  I  should  call  it  a  very  egg-spensive  and  egg-strava- 
gant  article,"  remarked  Mr.  Raymond,  who  had  heard  the  as 
sertion. 

'"Tain't  any  too  nice  for  de  bride  it  was  made  fer,  masser." 

"  There's  a  ling  in  it,"  said  Alice,  as  she  performed  the  duty 
of  the  occasion  by  cutting  the  cake.  "Who  has  it?" 


TIIE    CAVERN.  117 

Everybody  took  their  piece  with  curiosity,  and  finally  Mr. 
Irving  held  up  the  golden  circlet,  giving,  at  the  same  time,  a 
glance  towards  Virginia,  too  expressive  to  be  misunderstood. 

"  You'll  be  married  next,  Mr.  Irving,  and  we  hold  ourselves 
all  invited  to  the  wedding,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond. 

"  I  hope  I  may  be,"  replied  that  gentleman,  with  a  second 
glance  toward  the  bride-maid;  but  she  was  looking  to  her 
plate,  and  did  not  seem  to  hear  him. 

Virginia  had  pursued  the  art  of  flirtation  too  long  to  aban 
don  it  at  once. 

As  they  lingered  over  the  closing  cup  of  coffee,  Alice  re 
lated  the  circumstance  which  had  probably  saved  her  life.  It 
seemed  she  could  not  endure  to  dwell  upon  the  terror  of  her 
flight  in  that  wild  maniac's  arms,  passing  it  over  as  briefly  as 
possible. 

"  When  I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  rescue,  and  felt  as  if 
actually  dying,  from  the  terror  of  my  situation,  my  abductor 
suddenly  paused,  before  what  seemed  to  be  a  small  ledge  of 
rock,  such  as  frequently  juts  out  of  the  ground  in  these  woods, 
especially  near  the  river.  Pushing  aside  a  vine  which  trailed 
thickly  before  it,  he  thrust  me  into  the  mouth  of  a  cave,  but 
instead  of  following  me  in,  as  I  expected,  he  drew  the  vine 
carefully  over  it  again,  and  sprung  away,  singing, — 

"  '  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress-tree, 
When  the  footstep  of 'death  is  near.' 

"  The  feeling  of  exquisite  relief  which  came  to  me  in  that 
moment  was  quickly  superseded  by  the  thought  of  his  speedy 
return.  While  I  stood  there,  trembling,  waiting  for  him  to 
get  out  of  sight  and  hearing,  in  the  hope  that  I  might  creep 
out  and  elude  him,  I  heard  the  roar  of  the  approaching  tem 
pest.  Peering  through  the  foliage,  I  felt  my  rocky  shelter 
tremble,  and  saw  the  forest  fall  prostrate.  As  soon  as  the  first 
shock  was  over,  I  crept  out,  thinking  nothing  but  of  the  de 
struction  of  my  friends.  Too  distracted  to  feel  any  personal 
fear,  I  wandered  through  the  storm,  I  knew  not  how  many 
hours,  until,  by  the  merest  chance,  a  flash  of  lightning  revealed 
Philip,  not  four  feet  away  from  me." 

"The  first  thing  you  did,  I  suppose,  was  to  give  him  a  cur 
tain-lecture,  for  staying  out  nights,"  remarked  Mr.  Raymond. 


118  ALICE    WILDE. 

"  And  now,  dear  father,  I  think  the  roof  blew  off,  and  the 
house  blew  to  pieces  almost,  and  your  arm  was  broken,  on 
purpose  to  convince  you  of  the  necessity  of  spending  your 
winter  with  us.  It  would  be  foolish  to  try  to  make  this  com 
fortable  again,  this  fall.  Your  men  can  put  a  roof  on,  to  pro 
tect  it  from  the  weather,  and  we'll  leave  it  to  its  fate." 

"  Since  he's  disabled  and  can't  defend  himself,  we'll  take 
him  captive,"  said  Philip. 

"  Have  it  as  you  like,  children,  I  expect  to  be  led  around 
by  apron-strings  after  this.  Next  spring,  I'll  take  Virginia, 
and  come  back  here,  and  will  put  up  the  handsomest  mansion 
that  ever  graced  this  river-side—it  shall  be  large  enough  to  ac 
commodate  the  whole  family,  present  and  prospective.  Ton 
needn't  color  up,  little  girl,— I  was  only  thinking  of  Virginia's 
future  spouse — eh,  Virginia, — what's  Mr.  Irving  blushing  for  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — men  should  never  blush — it's  a  weakness." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  as  unmoved  as  you,"  he  whispered  in 
her  ear,  for  he  sat  by  her  side.  "  It  would  be  more  becoming 
to  me  than  it  is  to  you.  Women  were  made  to  blush  and 
tremble." 

"  Were  they,  Mr.  Irving,  then  you'd  better  leave  those 
things  to  them,  and  not  be  intruding  upon  their  sphere." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  obey  you,  Miss  Moore,"  he  said,  recover 
ing  all  his  coolness. 

She  felt  that  he  was  a  man  not  to  be  trifled  with.  Sensitive 
and  full  of  sensibility  as  he  might  be,  he  was  not  the  man  to 
let  a  woman  put  her  foot  on  his  neck.  He  might  worship 
the  foot,  but  he  would  not  submit  to  be  trampled  upon  by  it. 
He  would  love,  truly  and  deeply,  but  he  must  be  respected 
and  loved  in  return.  His  was  just  the  spirit  tilted  to  take 
the  reins  and  curb  the  too  headstrong  and  wilful  disposition 
of  Virginia— under  the  control  of  a  wise  and  gentle  nature  like 
his,  her  faults  might  change  into  virtues. 

Philip  was  secretly  regarding  them,  delighted  to  see  how 
soon  he  recovered  his  self-possession,  and  how  quietly  he  made 
his  companion  feel  it.  He  saw  that  she  fretted  under  it, 
and  finally,  giving  up,  exerted  herself  to  be  friendly  and  agree 
able. 

"  They  will  be  well  matched.  I  never  saw  a  better  mate 
for  my  naughty  cousin.  I  had  an  idea  of  it,  when  I  invited 


THE    LOST    RING.  119 

him  to  act  as  groomsman.  She'll  be  a  good  while  giving  up, 
though." 

That  Virginia  would  not  yield  to  this  new  mastership  very 
soon  was  evident.  When  they  had  left  the  dining-room,  and 
were  standing  on  the  portico,  Mr.  Irving  desired  to  place  the 
ring  which  had  fallen  to  him  upon  her  finger — but  she  re 
fused  it  with  considerable  hauteur. 

"I  only  desired  you  to  wear  it  for  safe-keeping.  It's  a 
lady's  ring,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it.  Mrs.  Ray 
mond,  will  you  accept  it  ?" 

He  placed  it  on  the  finger  of  the  married  lady  with  as 
pleasant  an  air,  as  if  it  had  been  accepted  where  he  first  of 
fered  it. 

"  I  had  not  ought  to  wear  it ;  give  it  to  some  fair  maiden." 

"  There  is  but  one,  and  she  will  not  have  it.  If  there  were 
others,  I  should  certainly  offer  it.  So  you  see  it  is  chance 
only  that  has  left  it  to  you." 

""Well,  I'm  not  very  much  flattered  Mr.  Irving — but  the 
ring  is  just  as  pretty,  and  I  ought  to  be  thankful  to  chance." 

So  the  ring  was  lost  to  Virginia,  without  the  satisfaction  of 
her  having  annoyed  the  one  who  offered  it. 


120  ALICE   WILDE. 


C  H  APT  E  R     XV. 

BEN    AND    ALICE. 

"  Now  that  the  wedding-feast  is  disposed  of,  I  must  remind 
you  all  that  there  is  yet  work  to  be  done.  I  have  not  heard 
from  the  mill ;  and  poor  old  Saturn  must  be  searched  for,  as 
well  as  that  unfortunate  young  man  who  has  made  us  so 
much  trouble.  It  frets  me  to  think  I  can  do  nothing.  Philip, 
you  must  do  service  in  place  of  my  broken  arm." 

The  party  were  making  ready  to  go  out  again,  when  two 
or  three  men  came  from  the  mill,  to  inquire  after  the  family, 
and  to  relate  to  the  captain  the  story  of  the  vast  damage  his 
property  had  sustained. 

"  Oh,  what  is  de  riches  of  dis  woiT,  masser,"  said  Pallas,  as 
she,  too,  paused  from  her  work  to  hear  their  interesting  narra 
tive  of  wreck  and  chaos  upon  every  side,  with  accounts  which 
had  reached  them  from  people  farther  down,  where  the 
tornado  had  made  a  yet  more  terrible  visitation.  "  What  is 
de  riches  of  dis  woiT,  when  a  bref  of  de  Almighty  can  sweep 
'cm  away  like  as  dey  were  dust  and  trash.  My  ole  masser  he 
turn  you  'way,  'cause  yer  had  no  riches,  and  your  chile-wife, 
she  die  of  grief;  and  you  come  out  here  and  work  and  work 
in  de  wilderness  half  as  long  as  de  chil'en  of  Israel — and  you 
set  your  foot  down,  you  will  be  rich,  and  your  chile  shall  have 
much  to  gib  her  husband  when  she  got  one— and  de  storm 
come,  and  all  yer  pine-trees  is  laid  low,  and  yer  mill-wheel  is 
broken  at  de  fountain,  and  your  riches  pass  'way  in  de  whirl 
wind." 

"  It's  time  for  me  to  begin  thinking  of  these  things  I  sup 
pose,  Pallas.  But,  as  to  my  losses— I  can  stand  'em.  My 
wood-choppers  must  work  briskly  this  winter,  among  this 
fallen  timber — and  as  for  the  old  mill,  I  think  it  has  gone  to 
pieces  to  hasten  the  fulfillment  of  my  plan  of  erecting  a  steam- 
mill  in  its  place.  I've  worked  for  Alice,  and  now  I  must 
work  for  Virginia." 


THANKSGIVING..  121 

"  Let  us  at  least,"  said  the  clergyman,  who  was  standing 
by,  "  be  reminded  of  our  duty  by  this  humble  colored  woman 
— let  us  offer  up  thanks  for  our  wonderful  preservation." 

All  knelt,  except  the  disabled  raftsman,  while  the  minister 
offered  up  a  heartfelt  thanksgiving,  when  the  party  set  forth 
into  the  tangled  forest  again.  Alice,  who  had  been  overcome 
more  by  anxiety  than  by  fatigue,  was  so  recruited,  that  she 
insisted  upon  going  with  Philip.  Her  familiarity  with  the 
woods  she  thought  would  enable  her  to  trace  the  way  to  the 
spot  where  Ben  would  doubtless  be  found  a  corpse ;  the  fact 
that  he  was  high  up  in  the  branches  of  a  tall  tree  when  the 
tempest  struck  the  spot,  making  it  almost  certain  that  he  was 
destroyed.  Two  or  three  foresters,  Raymond,  and  Philip, 
followed  their  guide,  as  she  wound  through  and  climbed  over 
matted  branches  and  fallen  trunks,  pausing  occasionally  for 
some  trace  of  the  familiar  aspect  of  yesterday.  In  many 
places  the  forest  looked  actually  as  if  a  band  of  giant  reapers 
had  passed  that  way  and  mowed  down  the  trees  in  mighty 
swaths.  Again,  when  the  tornado  had  taken  a  more  whirl 
ing  moment,  the  great  trunks  would  be  twisted  and  snapped 
off  in  long  splinters,  ten  or  twelve  feet  from  the  ground.  An 
overwhelming  sense  of  the  terrific  power  of  their  unwelcome 
visitor  oppressed  them,  as  they  beheld  its  ravages  in  the  broad 
daylight. 

"And  yet,  dear  Philip,  it  may  have  been  sent  by  Provi 
dence  to  save  me  from  a  fearful  fate — or  at  least,  it  did  save 
me,  and  I  am  grateful — oh,  so  grateful,"  whispered  the  young 
wife,  as  Philip  assisted  her  over  a  huge  tree  which  lay,  torn 
up  by  the  roots,  across  their  path. 

"It  must  have  been  somewhere  about  here,"  she  said, 
presently. 

"I  am  sure  I  have  no  idea  of  the  locality,"  answered 
Philip. 

"  Yes  !  there  is  the  ledge  of  rock,  and  the  cavern  into  which 
he  thrust  me.  Poor  Ben !  I  forgive  him  all.  I  hardly  dare 
go  on — I  am  afraid  I  shall  see  some  dreadful  sight ;"  and  she 
shuddered. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  rest  yourself,  while  we  search  this 
vicinity  closely." 

"  Oh,  no !     I  am  too  nervous  to  be  left  alone.     I  will  keep 


122  ALICE    WILDE. 

by  your  side,"  and  she  clung  to  his  arm,  growing  paler  every 
moment,  and  scarcely  daring  to  look  before  her. 

"  Hush !"  exclaimed  one  of  the  foresters,  half-an-hour  later, 
turning  back  toward  the  young  couple  who  were  some  dis 
tance  behind.  "Don't  let  her  come  near.  We've  found  him ; 
he's  dead  as  a  hammer." 

Alice  sat  down  upon  a  fallen  tree-trunk,  faint  and  trembling. 

"  Stay  here,  dearest,  a  few  moments.  I  will  come  back  to 
you,"  and  Philip  went  forward  with  the  men  to  where,  amid 
the  ruins  of  the  forest, —  Ben  lay,  a  crushed  and  senseless 
human  thing.  He  was  dreadfully  mutilated,  and  to  every 
appearance  dead.  They  dragged  him  out  from  under  the 
heavy  branches,  and  as  they  did  so,  a  low  groan  startled  them. 
One  of  the  men  sank  down  and  took  the  head  upon  his  knee. 

"  Where's  Alice  ?" 

Ben  unclosed  his  eyes,  as  he  asked  the  question,  moving 
them  about  from  one  face  to  another  with  a  searching  glance. 

"  I'm  dying — bring  her  quick.  Oh,  do  bring  her,  won't 
you  ?" 

The  gasping  voice  was  loud  and  thrilling  in  the  eagerness 
of  its  entreaty.  Philip  turned  away  and  went  for  his  wife. 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  bear  the  sight  ?" 

"  If  he  wishes  to  see  me,  I  shall  not  deny  a  dying  man. 
He  took  many  a  step  for  me,  in  his  better  days — poor  boy." 

Ben  seemed  to  distinguish  her  footsteps  as  she  drew  near. 
He  could  not  stir,  but  his  eyes  turned  in  that  direction. 

"  Are  you  cryin'  for  me  ?"  he  asked,  as  she  stood  by  his 
side,  the  tears  flowing  down  her  cheeks  like  rain.-  "  It's 
enough  to  make  a,  man  die  happy  to  see  you  crjrin'  for  him, 
Alice." 

"  O  Ben !  I  wish  I  could  help  you,"  she  sobbed. 

"  I'm  past  earthly  help,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  It's  the  best 
thing  could  happen  to  a  used-up  fellow  like  me.  I  don't 
blame  you  for  it,  Alice,  but  I'm  to  blame  for  things  I've  done, 
and  I  won't  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  My  head's  been  on  fire 
for  weeks — I've  been  in  a  strange  state — I  can't  recall  what 
I've  did  or  said.  Then  I  got  hurt,  I  don't  know  how — and 
when  I  could  think  again,  that  burning  pain  in  my  head  was 
gone.  I  knew  I  was  dyiu',  and  I  wanted  to  see  }^ou.  I 
wanted  to  carry  the  pictur'  of  your  face  to  the  next  world.  I 


DEATH    OF    THE    YOUNG.  123 

shouldn't  be  ashamed  to  show  it  to  the  angels — if  they'll  have 
any  thing  to  do  with  a  poor,  ignorant  fellow  like  me,  as  Pallas 
said  they  would.  You're  married,  ain't  you  ?" 

"  She  is  niy  wife."  said  Philip,  gently,  taking  her  hand. 

"  It  made  me  crazy  to  think  of  it  once ;  but  it's  over  now. 
Alice,  you've  my  blessin'  and  my  wishes  that  you  may  be 
happy  all  your  life.  Forgive  me  the  trouble  I've  made  ye, 
and  may  you  and  him  be  happy  long  after  the  grass  grows 
over  poor  Ben  Perkins." 

Alice  sobbed  aloud,  and  the  rough  men  standing  around 
were  grave  and  silent.  The  last  sentence  had  been  spoken  in 
a  whisper,  and  it  was  evident  that  life  was  ebbing  away 
rapidly.  He  closed  his  eyes,  and  the  sweat  gathered  on  the 
pallid  face,  but  a  short  time  since,  rich  with  the  olive  and 
crimson  of  health  and  youth. 

"  I  shan't  be  twenty-two  till  next  month,"  he  whispered, 
with  shut  eyes.  "  Put  it  on  my  tombstone,  and  let  'em  put 
on  it — 

"  '  Oh,  his  heart,  his  heart  was  broken 
For  the  love  of  Alice  Wilde.'  " 

They  stood  looking  at  him. 

"  Alice — goocl-by.     Alice— where  are  you  ?     Alice  !" 

"  Here,  Ben — here  I  am ;"  but  she  spoke  to  a  corpse. 

He  died  with  the  name  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  with 
all  the  power  of  his  passionate  nature  trembling  upon  his  last 
breath. 

The  next  day  they  buried  him  in  a  lovely  spot  on  the  bank 
of  the  river;  and,  spite  of  all  his  errors  and  crimes,  he  was 
not  unwept  and  not  immourned.  Once  he  had  been  gay  and 
frank,  kind  and  honest,  handsome  and  merry — and  the  memory 
of  his  good  qualities  swept  away  the  judgment  passed  upon 
his  later  actions. 

Poor  Saturn's  remains  were  -not  discovered ;  and  Piillas, 
with  the  superstition  of  her  class,  was  inclined  to  believe  that 
he  had  been  translated  bodily,  in  the  chariot  of  the  wind,  to 
that  better  world  of  which  they  had  spoken  so  much  together. 
It  was  a  pleasant  belief,  and  afforded  her  great  consolation. 

"  He  allers  was  so  fond  of  dressin'  and  good  clo'es ;  and 
he'd  been  taken  up  in  his  new  suit  as  if  a-purposc  to  pleasft 


124  ALICE    WILDE. 

him.  Ef  he'd  only  a  partaken  of  de  weddin'-feas',  he  couldn't 
hab  been  better  prepared  'an  he  was.  Hi !  hi !" 

It  was  a  picturesque-looking  party  which  sailed  away  from 
Wilde's  mill  one  brilliant  day  in  September. 

"  One  doesn't  see  such  a  bridal-party  every  daj'",  or  take 
such  a  bridal  tour,"  remarked  Virginia  to  the  groomsman  by 
her  side.  "  It's  better  than  six  fashionable  weddings,  with  the 
usual  routine.  I  used  to  have  a  contempt  for  the  romantic — 
but  I'm  begining  to  like  it." 

Yes,  even  the  aristocratic  Virginia,  the  -beautiful  metropoli 
tan,  began  to  be  infatuated  with  the  romance  of  the  forest. 

We  may  yet  hear  of  more  remarkable  changes  than  her 
change  of  opinion.  We  may  yet  see  a  villa,  charming  as 
those  which  grace  our  lordly  Hudson,  rising  amid  the  elms 
and  beeches  on  the  banks  of  that  fairer  Western  river — for 
love,  beauty,  taste,  and  money  can  accomplish  wonders  more 
surprising  than  making  the  wilderness  blossom  like  a  rose— 
and  "  out  West"  Aladdin's  lamp  is  no  myth. 

But,  for  the  present,  we  will  leave  this  picturesque  party 
sailing  down  this  broad,  silver  river  in  the  purple  and  gold  of 
an  autumn  day — leave  it  to  its  joyous  light,  and  leave  that 
one  new-made  grave  to  its  silence  and  shadow. 


THE   END. 


THE    GOLDEN    BELT.  125 


CHAPTER     V. 

THE   CARIB'S   PLEDGE. 

THE  next  day  Hernando  mounted  his  charger,  and  went 
forth  to  the  forest.  Guarcia's  flower  had  withered,  though  he 
had  kept  its  stem  in  costal  water  all  night.  He  was  impatient 
to  hear  her  voice  again,  athirst  for  the  sweet  words  that  told 
him  of  her  love.  As  he  galloped  through  the  forest,  followed 
by  the  hounds  that  had  learned  to  crouch  at  Guarcia's  feet 
and  play  lovingly  with  her  fawns,  a  figure  stepped  suddenly 
across  his  path  and  seized  his  horse  by  the  bit.  The  horse, 
restive  at  feeling  a  strange  hand  near  his  head,  made  an  at 
tempt  to  rear,  but  the  Carib  savage  drew  him  back  to  the 
earth  with  a  wrench  of  his  strong  arm,  and,  before  Hernando 
could  speak,  was  looking  him  gravely  in  his  face. 

"  Come  with  me,  stranger,  there  is  a  black  cloud  over  this 
path." 

"  I  am  used  to  danger,  chief,  as  some  of  your  tribe  may 
know,"  said  Hernando,  smiling,  as  he  touched  the  hilt  of  his 
sword. 

"  Vipers  are  not  killed  with  weapons  like  that,"  answered 
the  chief;  "it  is  with  them  you  have  to  deal." 

"  Well,  what  of  them  ?  I  prefer  an  open  foe,  like  the  war 
riors  of  your  tribe.  You  are  an  enemy  to  our  people,  but 
now  and  straightforward  what  other  assailant  need  I  fear  ?" 

"  We  are  foes  to  the  Spaniard,  but  not  to  you.  Come,  and 
I  will  show  you  the  snares  which  white  men  lay  for  each  other." 

"  But  what  if  this  were  itself  a  snare  ?" 

The  Indian  drew  a  knife  from  his  belt,  and  seizing  Her- 
nando's  hand  in  his  iron  grasp,  pierced  a  vein  with  the  point. 
Applying  his  lips  to  the  cut,  he  drew  a  mouthful  of  blood  and 
swallowed  it.  Then  dashing  one  clenched  .hand  against  his 
broad  chest,  he  exclaimed,  with  vehemence  : 

"  The  blood  of  my  pale  brother  flows  here.  What  Carib 
ever  betrayed  his  own  blood  ?" 


126  THE    GOLDEN   BELT. 

Hernando  knew  that  this  was  a  sacred  pledge,  and  turning 
to  the  Indian,  with  a  smile,  bade  him  lead  on. 

The  Indian  did  not  smile,  but  his  eyes  broke  into  a  blaze 
of  delight,  and,  with  a  gesture,  lie  plunged  into  the  forest. 

Some  four  or  five  miles  from  the  place  of  the  encounter 
lay  a  stretch  of  swampy  land,  dark  and  dismal  as  stagnant 
water  and  the  slimy  growth  of  swamp  vegetation  could  render 
it.  Many  a  rough  passage  and  deep  gully  lay  betAveen  the 
broad  savannas  and  this  dreary  spot ;  but  the  savage  passed 
them  without  halting,  and  Hernando  followed,  though  his 
good  steed  grew  restive  with  the  broken  path.  At  last  they 
caine  out  on  a  precipice  which  it  was  impossible  that  the 
horse  could  descend. 

"  Leave  your  beast  here— he  will  be  safe,"  said  the  Indian 
pointing  to  a  footpath  which  wound  like  a  black  serpent  down 
the  precipice. 

Hernando  dismounted,  tied  his  horse  to  a  sapling,  and  pre 
pared  to  follow  his  guide  on  -foot.  With  a  step  as  firm  and 
more  rapid  than  a  wild  goat's,  the  savage  took  to  the  path. 
Hernando  followed.  With  a  fearless  and  steacty  step,  they 
wound  their  way  still  on  the  edge ,  of  the  precipice,  till  the 
moon  had  risen,  and  flung  her  luxuriant  gilding  upon  every 
object.  They  now  walked  more  rapidly,  and  soon  took  a 
southern  course,  and  began  to  descend.  Hernando  now  un 
derstood  where  he  was  going.  The  continual  and  monot 
onous  cries  of  the  frogs,  and  the  tall  trees  with  their  long  fes 
toons  of  Spanish  moss — which  hung  over  the  alluvial  bottom, 
like  the  curtains  of  a  funeral  pall — indicated  sufficiently  that 
they  were  approximating,  or  had  already  reached  the  Cypress 
Swamp.  Many  a  slimy  toad  hopped  croaking  out  of  their 
way,  as  they  advanced  in  the  swamps,  and  the  angry  scream 
of  some  huge  "  swamp'  owl,"  as  it  napped  its  broad  wings, 
and  malignantly  snapped  its  bill  at  them,  gave  him  a  hint 
that  it  was  time  to  tread  warily  in  the  tracks  of  his  guide,  or 
he  might  suddenly  be  precipitated  headlong  into  the  mud  and 
slime,  for  they  were  approaching  the  mtertor  of  the  swamp. 

After  walking  for  some  time,  till  even  the  Indian,  whose 
knowledge  of  that  country  was  unlimited,  was  constrained  to 
step  with  extreme  caution,  for  fear  of  sinking  into  the  decep 
tive  mud,  they  stopped.  The  scene  around  bore  a  terrifying 


THE  CARIB  CHIEF'S  STORY.  127 

appearance — not  one  step  further  could  they  advance,  without 
being  overwhelmed  in  mud  and  water.  As  fur  as  the  eye 
could  see,  by  the  imperfect  light  which  penetrated  that  dismal 
spot,  was  but  one  sickening  sight  of  the  green  mud  and  wrater, 
where  no  human  foot  could  tread  without  sinking  ten  feet  or 
more,  to  find  death  at  the  bottom. 

"  Look  upon  that  spot,"  said  the  savage,  pointing  with  his 
finger  to  a  pool  of  stagnant  water ;  it  had  the  appearance  of 
being  deep,  and  a  large  green  frog  sat  on  a  broken  stump  that 
floated  there,  with  his  gray  eyes  fixed  upon  them,  and  with 
his  hind  legs  drawn  under  him,  as  if  prepawhg  to  leap  into 
their  faces.  Hernando  turned  his  eyes  away  from  this  loath 
some  sight.  "  That  spot,"  continued  the  savage,  still  pointing 
toward  it — "  that  spot  was  to  have  been  my  white  brother's 
grave." 

"  What  !"  exclaimed  Hernando,  recoiling  ;  "  what  you  say 
can  not  be  true— who  could  make  that  spot  my  grave  ?  Is 
this  a  time  for  trifling  with  me,  chief?" 

"  It  is  not,  my  white  brother  !  I  did  not  bring  you  here  to 
play  with  your  feelings,  but  to  save  your  life ;  you  look  at  me, 
— you  would  inquire  what  interest  I  have  in  saving  your  life. 
Listen :  It  was  a  great  many  summers  ago,  wThen  a  Carib 
chief  went  out  to  shoot  deer ;  he  walked  all  day — no  deer— he 
sat  on  a  log,  tired  and  hungry  ;  while  he  sat  there,  weak  and 
tired,  almost  asleep,  a  crouching  panther  sprang  upon  him 
and  bore  him  to  the  earth  ;  the  Carib  fought  hard,  for  he  was 
fighting  for  his  life,  but  he  was  weak  and  hungry,  and  the 
panther  seized  him  and  was  bearing  him  off,  when  a  white 
man,  who  heard  the  noise,  came  running  to  the  spot.  He, 
drawing  his  knife  like  a  true  warrior,  jumped  upon  the  en- 
ru^-ed  animal's  back,  and  stabbed  him  to  the  heart.  The  Indian 
Was  saved.  The  white  man  had  a  warrior's  heart — he  took 
from  his  wallet  some  provisions,  wrhich  he  gave  to  his  starving 
brother,  and  bade  him  eat,  then  he  walked  off.  The  Carib's 
heart  swelled,  and  when  the  pale  man  had  disappeared,  he  fell 
upon  one  knee,  and  called  the  Great  Spirit  to  witness,  and  he 
swore  an  oath  ;  he  swore  in  the  presence  of  that  mighty 
Spirit  to  protect  all  in  whom  that  pale  man's  blood  flowed." 

"  That  man  wTas  my  father,"  interrupted  Hernando ;  "  I 
have  heard  him  tell  that  story  many  times;  and  what  became 
of  the  Carib  ?" 


THE  GOLDEN  BELT. 

"  He  stands  before  you  !  Kow  will  my  pale  brother  sus 
pect  me  of  playing  with  his  feelings  ?  But  stay.  The  Carib 
became  a  great  chief  in  his  nation,  and  sat  in  the  councils  of 
Caonabo.  He  still"  Bunted  in  these  woods,  and  as.  he  hunted 
three  suns  ago,  sounds  came  to  his  ears,  more  terrific  than 
the  swamp  owl's,  for  it  was  not  the  sound  of  defiance^  but  of 
cowardly  murder.  Two  men  advanced  ;  your  brother,  who 
did  not  wish  to  be  seen,  stepped  behind  a  tree.  It  was  a  big 
captain  of  the  fort,  and  a  man  whom  I  have  seen  taking  care 
of  ftte  horses  at  the  fort—  a  slim-faced  Spaniard,  with  eyes  like 
a  snake's;  thehWooks  were  black,  and  they  talked  of  murder; 
your  brother  understood,  for  he  had  learned  their  language  in 
trading  with  them;  they  struck  upon  the  track  that  wre  have 
just  passed  —  what  would  they  in  this  track,  for  no  game  can 
live  here  ?  Your  brother  followed  them  cautiousty,  and  the 
slim  one  cursed  my  white  brother,  because  he  loved  a  daughter 
of  the  Spaniard  whose  mother  was  a  Carib  /princess,  and  he 
swor"e  he  should  be  killed,  and  hid  from  his  con>rades  in  the 
black  heart  of  the  cj^press  swamp.  I  loft  them,  and  hunted 
you  —  here  we  are  !" 

Hernando  was  thunderstruck  at  what  he  heard  ;  a  feeling 
of  "horror  pervaded  his  frame,  as  he  looked  around  on  that 
dismal  spoj.  The  tall  trees  above  them  bore  no  other  verdure 
than  the  fank  Spanish  moss,  which  swept  the  swamp  far  and 
wTide,  and-  the  dark,  green  water,  with  its  thousand  loathsome 
reptiles,  >vas  horrible  to  look  upon. 

u  My  brotlief  must  keep  a  sharp  eye  about  him  —  he  must 
play  the  fox,  and  if  the  Spaniards  are  too  strong,  send  this 
belt  to  Oraziinbo,  and  he  will  find  your  brother,  who  will 
come  to  your  help  though  he  must  bring  as  many  warriors  as 
there  arc  leaves  on  the  trees." 

Hernando  took  the  belt,  which  glittered  richly  even  in  that 
murky  light;  for  it  was  a  girdle  of  virgin  gold,  flexible,  from 
its  own  purity,  with  a  rivulet  of  burning  opal  stones,"rougli 
emeralds,  and  rude  gems  running  through  it  like,  a  rainbow. 


BEADY  AUGUST 
BEADLE'S  DIME  NOVELS,  No.  5.  —  "  THE  GOLDEN  BELT  ;  OK, 
THE  C  ABIE'S  PLEDGE,"  COMPLETE, 


H  DAY  USE 

>  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 


--, 
(H5067slO)476B 


.General  Library 
University  of  Califoroia 


M146857 


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